


A System of Touch

by EtherealBeing



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Delivery Boy, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Pole Dancing, Ballet, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Humor, I mean kind of, M/M, Me thinking I'm way funnier than I actually am™, Probably not much angst if any, Rating may go up, slight AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-16 16:55:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9280976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtherealBeing/pseuds/EtherealBeing
Summary: When a strange man calls in an order with a request for ‘only the cutest delivery boy,’ Yuuri is reluctant to go, to say the least. Thirty minutes and one spilled container of katsudon later, he only wishes he didn’t have to leave.





	1. The Guest Always Gets To Be Yuuri One

**Author's Note:**

> I spent a lot of time debating what sort of fic I’d want to write for this fandom. This is nerve wracking, to say the least. Ohhhh boy. Ohhhh man. Shout out to Capri (Vixenfur) for reading over and making sure it's not complete shit lol.

“Absolutely not,” Yuuri stated, cradling his phone closer to his face as he pointedly continued staring at the screen. There was nothing to see there, not really, but through his tone and lack of eye contact, Yuuri was trying desperately to convey finality in those two words.

“Oh my god, Yuuri,” Phichit groaned, taking strides around the table until he was standing next to where Yuuri was seated, towering over him. In response, Yuuri immediately locked his phone screen. He wasn’t looking at anything particularly incriminating, and the action was done primarily out of habit, although Yuuri was more than aware that Phichit, if he felt so inclined, could likely twist anything he did into a legend for the ages. Yuuri chose to play it safe.

“Phichit, no.”

“Phichit, _yes.”_

“You _are_ aware I don’t actually work here, right?” He shoved his phone into his pants pocket, folding his arms across his chest as he stared up at his friend. “Why don’t you go? I’m sure the customer would prefer that, anyway.”

“Yuuri, Yuuri, listen. You don’t understand,” he leaned over, resting his arms on the table as he fixed Yuuri with a serious expression unworthy of the context. “Look, I’m not an expert on accents or anything, but Yuuri, this guy, this man... I’m like ninety-percent certain he had a Russian accent, and I know that’s kind of like, your thing, so-”

“Phichit,” he rolled his eyes. “You’ve been saying that ever since we saw _Despicable Me,_ like, _years_ ago. I’m telling you, that’s not ‘my thing.’”

“Really? Are you sure?” And something about the blank expression Phichit gave him told Yuuri that his answer would have little to no impact on his friend’s beliefs regarding this matter. “Because you were squirming in your chair, like, a lot.”

“Because I had to _pee,”_ Yuuri stated, exasperated yet monotone, as if he’d had this conversation a million times. _I **have** had this conversation a million times._ “Because you insisted on getting the extra large sodas. Don’t you remember me bolting to the bathroom afterward?”

“Yeah, but y’know,” Phichit straightened up, averting his eyes somewhere off to the side. “I figured that was so you could, well...”

“Wow,” Yuuri snorted. “Are you serious? You _actually_ thought- I mean, honestly, if that’s the first conclusion you came to, I’m kind of concerned.”

“Yuuri, it’s alright,” he put his open hands up, as if to indicate that he meant no harm. “I’m not here to kinkshame you.”

“You’ve been kinkshaming me for literal years.” Yuuri replied bluntly. “And it’s not even my kink.”

“In any case,” Phichit sighed, sticking his hands inside the pockets of his jackets, almost defensively. “I’ve got like three orders I was supposed to leave with around…” He pulled his phone halfway out of his pants pocket, checking the time, “five minutes ago. So I kind of need you to do this.”

“Why can’t you ask Minami?”

“Minami’s out,” Phichit sighed, glancing up with an annoyed expression. “Some asshole on the very edge of the delivery zone. I doubt he’ll be back for at least another thirty minutes.”

Yuuri paused, leaving silence in the room. He bit his lip as he thought, still uncertain. “It’s kind of sketchy,” he tried. “What if the guy’s like, a serial killer, or something, and this is his MO?”

Phichit, as if he had been prepared for this question, responded immediately. “If you’re not back in forty-five minutes, I’ll call the police.” At this, Yuuri raised an eyebrow.

“And say what?” He asked, raising his hand to his ear in a gesture that mimicked a phone call. “‘Hi, I’d like to report a missing person. Yes, he’s been missing for forty-five minutes. Delivering _katsudon.’”_

“Or I’ll just come to his place and take you back by force,” Phichit shrugged. “I’ll burst in, guns blazing, and leave behind only blood and bullets. It’ll be just like a Tarantino movie. It’ll be great.”

Yuuri took a deep breath, and released it in a long sigh of resignation. “Alright, fine. I hope you know I’m holding you to that.”

And that was how he got here.

On his way to deliver katsudon to a man who had quite unsubtly requested that his food be brought to him by ‘only your cutest delivery boy.’

The wheels of Mari’s car turned just a little too quickly as he sped down the road, fingers drumming on the steering wheel as he tried to ignore the rattling noise that had pervaded the old vehicle for god knows how many years. He knew he shouldn’t be speeding. Had there been anyone with him, he most certainly wouldn’t have been, but Yuuri was alone, and he was tired, and frankly, he just wanted to get this over with. In the seat next to him, a bag full of several to-go boxes sat, untouched and pristine. Yuuri had the good sense to slow to a gradual stop, lest the laws of physics decide the katsudon would look better on the floor.

He pulled up in front of a house that was brightly lit against the darkened sky. Making sure to pocket the car keys before he had a chance to lock them inside the vehicle, _again,_ Yuuri carefully picked up the food and stepped outside. Along the path to the house’s entrance, Yuuri found himself dodging numerous boxes strewn about. _Moving boxes,_ his mind supplied. _I guess he must’ve just moved in._

As Yuuri reached the porch, he was greeted with the sight of a front door that was already wide open. After a brief moment in which Yuuri just stood there, uncertain what to do in this situation, Yuuri resolved to simply ring the doorbell anyway. _It’d be rude to just walk in, wouldn’t it?_

_Rude, and at least vaguely illegal._

After pressing it, the sound of the doorbell resonated throughout the house, and Yuuri stood stock-still as he came to the sudden realization, a bit too late, that he had no idea what he was supposed to say to this person, this apparently Russian man, who’d requested the arrival of a person that Yuuri very much was not.

_Should I apologize?_ He wondered, _Maybe tell him that all the delivery drivers were busy? Shit._ He squeezed his eyes shut in frantic thought, tuning out his surroundings at what turned out to be precisely the wrong time, as he suddenly felt the impact of something pouncing on him, knocking him, and the food, to the ground.

He released a strangled shout. It was a sound unlike anything he’d heard from a human before, much less himself.

When Yuuri opened his eyes, he was greeted with the sight of a large poodle, and felt oddly relieved, even as the dog’s face descended toward his own and he felt the sensation of a warm, wet tongue dragging across his cheek.

Yuuri wasn’t so good with people, but dogs - dogs he could handle.

It was only after Yuuri reached up to pat the dog’s head that he realized that one of the boxes had spilled all over his shirt.

“Fuck!” He heard somewhere in front of him. “Victor! Your fucking dog is, fucking-”

“What?” Another voice, deeper, replied. There was a pause. _“Shit._ Makkachin! Makkachin, come here!” Rapidly approaching footsteps could just barely be heard over the sound of the dog panting, and then… “I’m so sorry, are you alright?!”

Yuuri’s breath caught in his throat.

The first thing he sees are bright blue eyes, wide and full of concern. Then, it’s the short silver hair, partially obscuring one of his eyes. Then it’s his lips, his skin, the man’s face as a whole, and just…

_This is one of the most gorgeous people I’ve ever met,_ Yuuri thought, staring up at the man in wonder as the porch lights shining down upon his head fitted him with appeared to be a halo, from Yuuri’s perspective.

_Why do I have to meet him when I’m covered in katsudon?_

It took him a moment to register the hand being extended toward him. Hesitantly, Yuuri grabbed onto it, allowing himself to be pulled upright. When he was standing once more, the man still didn’t release his hand. “Are you- hold on,” he turned and shouted something over his shoulder in a language Yuuri did not speak. _Russian?_ The man looked back toward him, concern evident on his face. “Are you okay?”

Yuuri nearly forgot that answering basic questions was, in fact, a thing he was supposed to do.

“Y-Yeah, uh,” He stuttered. Yuuri looked down. Fortunately, only one of the containers had spilled. Still, it was one too many. “Uhm, I’m really sorry…” Yuuri mumbled, unsure what exactly he was apologizing for. _The food? My face? My face sharing the same space as **his** face?_

The man apparently took it to mean the first.

“No, it’s my fault,” Yuuri felt his hand being squeezed, then pulled as the man began walking toward the doorway. “Here,” he said, as though that single word would explain everything Yuuri needed to know about what was about to happen, the man’s intentions, and, ultimately, whether or not Phichit would need to make good on his promise.

For all Yuuri knew, this man could be dragging him to his death. But Yuuri was too distracted by the movement of the man’s muscles on his back, visible even through his shirt, to care.

Upon entering the house, Yuuri was soon met with the sight of a blonde teenager, who, like most teenagers, looked like he existed in a perpetual state of annoyance.

But now more than ever.

“Yuri!” The man in front of him called out.

“What?” Yuuri heard himself answer, without thinking.

“What?” The man asked, looking back at him with a confusion that Yuuri reciprocated.

“What?” The blonde teenager called back in aggravation.

“Yuri-”

“Huh?” Yuuri glanced back and forth between the two.

“Wait, what?” The man asked again.

“Uh, I-I’m Yuuri?” He responded hesitantly.

“Oh,” The man’s eyes lit up in comprehension, before he pointed to the boy across the room. “He’s Yuri, too.”

“We’re all fucking Yuri,” the blonde shouted, with a level of aggravation that was disproportionate to the situation. At least, in Yuuri’s mature, non-teenaged brain, it was.

“I’m not Yuri, I’m Victor,” The man, Victor, replied.

“Oh my god, fuck off, Victor,” the blonde groaned.

“Yuri, language,” he scolded.

“What the _fucking fuck_ do you _fucking_ want, Victor?” Yuri yelled.

“Would you grab the food before Makkachin gets it?” Victor requested. “I need to…” he gestured toward Yuuri’s soiled shirt, and the blonde responded with a roll of his eyes and wave of his hand as he swiftly walked past the two of them. Soon, the man was pulling Yuuri along behind him again.

“Uhm…” Yuuri looked off to the side, red-faced and uncertain. “It’s okay, you don’t have to-”

“Nonsense,” The man stated simply. “I can’t have you going back to work like that. You could get in trouble.”

“Actually-” he began, but didn’t finish, as he came to the realization that telling the man, _actually, I don’t really work there,_ would only lead to more confusion in an already bizarre situation. Yuuri closed his mouth, his protests effectively silenced.

Not a moment later, Yuuri found himself being led in a bathroom and released, as Victor began to search beneath the sink. Yuuri watched in the mirror as the man pulled out a towel and briefly ran it under the water, before turning back to Yuuri. As Victor stepped forward, Yuuri took a step back.

“Yuuri, right?” The man asked, squinting slightly.

Yuuri nodded in response.

“Yuuri,” he shivered as Victor’s pitch dropped slightly, and he was granted a smile which, quite frankly, did _things_ to him. Among some of the more innocent of those things was a sudden inability to move, as the man took another step toward him. “Will you let me help you, Yuuri?”

“Uhm, n- ah, ye- uh…” After failing his first few attempts at a verbal response, Yuuri elected to shut his mouth, instead nodding his consent as he looked up into the blue eyes that gazed down on him in return. _So close, almost **too** close…_ “Ah!” Yuuri gasped in surprise at the cold sensation on his torso.

“Sorry,” he murmured, as he began rubbing the damp towel against the front of Yuuri’s shirt.

After that, it was silent, and Yuuri began to feel increasingly uncomfortable in the quiet space. Vaguely, he wondered if Victor felt as awkward as he did, but a glance up at the man’s face revealed an expression of such concentration that Yuuri honestly doubted he even had enough attention left over to register the uncomfortable atmosphere. After a few minutes, Victor released a deep sigh, his hand falling limp at his side.

“Hold on,” he told Yuuri, after a moment, disappearing from the room soon after.

Yuuri remained still within the bathroom, nervous, as if his movement might somehow shift the air in such a way that something, anything, really, could break. The room was pristine. A clean, white counter with a porcelain sink. Delicate soaps resting in a dish on one side, with various other expensive-looking products arranged opposite them. It was the sort of clean, organized set up that Yuuri only ever bothered to achieve in preparation for visits from extended family members. It almost made him angry, to know that there were people who were genuinely able to maintain this sort of order. Then he remembered the moving boxes outside, and took strange comfort in the fact that the room’s orderliness would not last forever.

“Yuuri!” He heard Victor shout. He turned his head in the direction of the man’s voice.

“Yes?” He replied immediately. It took a second for him to realize that he was not the only person who had responded. Around the corner, the other Yuri had appeared out of what seemed like nowhere. Victor emerged from a room further down the hall and paused, seeming to have noticed the same thing. He paused, as if in deep thought, before dramatically pointing at Yuuri with a suddenness that almost made him jump.

“Okay, you’ll be Yuuri One,” he announced, then turned to point at the blonde in an equally theatrical manner, “and you’ll be Yuri Two!”

“Uh-” Yuuri started, only to be cut off before he could actually convey anything.

“What the fuck?” Yuri yelled, glaring viciously at Victor. “Why does _he_ get to be Yuuri One?!”

“He’s the guest,” Victor shrugged, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “The guest always gets to be Yuuri One.”

“Fuck you,” the boy seethed. So much anger from a person so small… “I’m eating your food, asshole,” Yuri declared, stomping away soon after. Victor turned his attention back toward Yuuri.

“Teenagers,” he stated, with a shrug. Wordlessly, Yuuri nodded in agreement, and then Victor was approaching him once again. “Here,” the man extended his arm, and it was only then that Yuuri noticed he was holding something. Upon accepting the item, Yuuri realized it was a simple, white shirt, similar to the one he’d been wearing.

“No, it’s-”

“I insist,” Victor cut in, giving a tight smile that left no room for argument, although Yuuri had more than a few questions. The most prominent being, _how the hell am I supposed to get this back to you?_ As if reading his mind, Victor continued on to say, “I was going to give that away anyway, and, well… You know how shady some of those donation places can be. At least this way I _know_ it’s going toward a good cause,” he winked, and Yuuri flushed, sputtering out a _thank you,_ before turning his back to the man and reaching toward the hem of his ruined shirt.

He gripped the edge, quickly pulling the shirt over his head and dropping it by his side in his haste to get the other shirt on. He was acutely aware of the other man’s eyes on his back, but knew that any comment he made on it would only make things more awkward.

Well, for him.

Victor, on the other hand, seemed perfectly comfortable with this whole situation, from the very beginning to the present moment.

Yuuri pulled the soft fabric over his skin, leaning over to retrieve the shirt he had dropped, and somehow he knew that Victor was still watching him.

In a burst of sudden, unprecedented confidence, the kind he was almost certain he’d later regret, Yuuri bent over just a bit further than necessary, arched his back just a bit more than usual. He couldn’t see the man’s face, but he felt his gaze lingering, even after he’d righted himself.

~*~

Several ‘thank you’s later, Yuuri found himself standing back on the porch where it had all started. He fidgeted with the hem of the t-shirt, only half-listening to the words that left Victor’s lips.

“So I told him I’d never tried it before, and apparently this information was quite upsetting to Yuri Two, and he yelled at me until I agreed to order katsudon, and...” The man explained, as Yuuri nodded along to the rhythm of his speech. His mind was racing, each thought entering and leaving his head faster than Yuuri could process it. He might as well not be thinking at all.

Yuuri felt the sudden shock of his own leg vibrating, and was briefly thrown off by it. It took a second for him to realize that the sensation was coming from his phone, but even then, he opted to ignore it.

Well, not really. To ignore something implies deliberateness. It wasn’t so much that Yuuri was actively choosing to ignore the persistent vibrations against his thigh as it was simply a matter of having more pressing issues at the forefront of his mind. Important things, like the melodic sound of Victor’s deep, soft voice. The way his lips shaped the words that passed through them, _and seriously,_ he thought. _I could listen to him talk for hours…_

_“My whole family thinks I’m gay,_   
_I guess it’s always been that way._   
_Maybe it’s ‘cause of the way that I walk_   
_Makes them think I like… boys.”_

_Oh, dear god._

His hand shot into his pants pocket, fumbling for his phone and answering it before he even had time to get it next to his ear.

“Yuuri! Thank god, I thought I was _actually_ going to have to-”

“Now’s not a good time,” Yuuri interjected, speaking so quickly his words bled together, and hanging up immediately after. When his eyes settled on Victor again, he was greeted by the sight of the man with a hand in front of his mouth, barely containing his laughter. “Uhm, that’s… That’s an inside joke,” Yuuri attempted to explain, flushing and averting his eyes. There wasn’t much he could say, really. The ringtone spoke for itself.

“Of course it is,” Victor replied, with a smirk on his face that seemed to suggest he was thinking something much different. Yuuri had to make an active effort not to dwell on it.

“Well, uhm…” Yuuri lifted a hand, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “I’m sorry about the… well, the everything.”

“Oh, no!” The other exclaimed. “It was my fault, really. I’m the one who should apologize.”

“No, really, I should’ve…” He trailed off for a moment. After realizing he had neglected to plan an end to that sentence, Yuuri reverted back to his original statement. “I’m really, very sorry.”

“No, _I’m_ sorry.”

_“No,_ I’m-”

“Yuuri, I swear-”

“Okay!” Yuuri interrupted, a bit louder than he intended to. He felt his face heat up slightly as he tried his best not to stumble over his words. “You’re sorry about the… the thing,” he gestured toward his soiled shirt. “I’m sorry about… the, you know. The other thing.”

“What other thing?” Victor tilted his head, looking at Yuuri in confusion. _Oh god, I’m going to have to say it, aren’t I?_

“You know,” Yuuri glared weakly at the ground, clutching his shirt tighter. “There weren’t, uh... There weren’t any other available delivery drivers tonight, so they sent me, and, well, yeah.” He paused for a moment, before continuing, almost inaudibly, “I’m… sorry to disappoint you.”

Victor stared back blankly for a while, his only movements being the occasional, slow blink. After several seconds, he seemed to finally comprehend what Yuuri was getting at.

“Oh!” A flash of recognition crossed his eyes. “You mean… _Oh,_ I see.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri mumbled, nervously reaching up to adjust his glasses, just to have something to do with his hands. He took them off and rubbed the lenses against his, _Victor’s,_ shirt, and when he put them back on he nearly jumped in surprise at Victor’s sudden proximity.

_“Yuuri,”_ the low rumble of his voice sent shivers down Yuuri’s spine, and his breath caught in his throat as he felt fingers lightly caressing beneath his chin. It was almost ticklish. “I hope you don’t really think that, because honestly,” Yuuri froze, trapped beneath the gaze of Victor’s cool, blue eyes. Freezing, yet somehow hot at the same time. “Given a thousand years to try, I don’t think I could imagine a cuter delivery boy than you.”

He felt a thumb pressing against his lower lip, and Yuuri stopped breathing all together. In his mind’s eye, he could envision himself opening his mouth just a little bit wider against the press of Victor’s thumb, allowing it to slowly slide into his mouth. His lips close around it, and…

Yuuri cleared his throat, quickly reaching up to grasp the man’s wrist as he gently stepped away. His face was burning as he stared down at the ground, no longer able to meet Victor’s gaze.

“Well,” he almost choked on that single word. “I… I hope you enjoy your food and, uhm… well, yes. Good. Thank you.”

Wordlessly, Victor nodded and allowed his hand to fall limp away for Yuuri’s face, before he slowly turned to walk toward the door. As he turned the handle, he looked over his shoulder and gave Yuuri a smile and a small wave, before shutting the door behind him and retreating into the house. Yuuri was frozen.

_Did… did that really just happen?_

He brought his fingers to his lips, tracing the place where Victor had touched, as if to check for some ghost of a sensation left behind by his gentle touch. After almost a full minute of remaining completely still, Yuuri was abruptly thrust out of his shock-induced paralysis with the sound of Victor, somewhere within the house, shouting something in a language Yuuri couldn’t understand. At this, Yuuri finally got ahold of himself, and began to slowly walk back to car, getting in and starting it up, almost robotically.

The whole way back home, Yuuri was in a daze. It was almost like he was floating, and he had to grip the steering wheel tighter just to keep himself from drifting away. As he pulled up in the driveway, it was as if he’d finally landed on Earth, and with that came the rapid-fire thoughts of anxiety that Yuuri had been well acquainted with for the majority of his life.

_What if he doesn’t like it?_ Yuuri thought, recalling how Victor mentioned he’d never eaten katsudon before. _He’s foreign, after all. He’s probably used to different foods. It wouldn’t be too much of a surprise if he hated it,_ his mind supplied bitterly, as he stepped out of the car and entered the building.

“Yuuri!” Phichit exclaimed upon seeing him emerging from the night. “Yuuri, what… uh….” he trailed off, as Yuuri displayed no visible response, still lost in his thoughts as he moved down the hallway toward his room. Yuuri opened and closed the door behind him, collapsing onto his bed with a sigh.

_And what was that he shouted afterward?_ He wondered, tensing up for a moment before flipping quickly onto his back, reaching for his laptop and opening up a new window.

_It sounded like… Koos-no?_ Yuuri tried typing that into the search engine. Nothing came up. _Maybe, it was… Vakoosno?_ He went through several different spellings before finally some results were returned.

_Vkusno? It’s a Russian word; I guess that must be it._ Yuuri selected the first result that came up.

_**Вкусно, pronounced “vkusno,” is a Russian word meaning “very tasty” or “delicious.”** _

Yuuri felt a wide smile spread across his face, and a flicker of hope igniting somewhere within him. He reached down and felt the hem of the shirt between his fingers. _I guess I might get a chance to return this to him, after all…_ Yuuri thought, smoothing his hand across the fabric idly. For a shirt so thin, it was pretty warm, and it felt so soft against his skin. He could smell a faint aroma radiating off of it that was delightfully foreign to him. It was a little bit sweet, and a little bit spicy, and so distinctly _Victor._ Yuuri felt a shiver down his spine.

_Though I do hope he understands… if I decide to keep it, instead._


	2. Seven Billion Tiny Explosions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He can feel the heat closing in._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yooooooo. I just wanted to thank all of you for reading this. The response so far has been really positive and I’m just. Hella fucking grateful. Reading all your comments makes me so happy, I just. What the fuck I fucking love you guys <3

_He can feel the heat closing in. Watches as the figure moves toward him, his actions slow and smooth, as if he were underwater. The light filters in from above, and just like a clear, blue swimming pool, it refracts around them, glimmering and distorted, and hits the man’s skin just the same. Yuuri sees graceful fingers extending toward him, feels them caressing his cheek gently. Yuuri feels his skin transforming, molding him from glass. He quickly begins to back away, too afraid of shattering._

Yuuri awakens with a start, as his phone vibrates loudly next to him. It takes him a moment to comprehend his surroundings, but soon enough he reaches toward it. The screen reads nine o’clock. He’s been asleep for an hour.

And apparently, that’s enough time to warrant exactly twenty-six texts from Phichit, three snapchats, and…

_I guess it’s sort of my fault,_ Yuuri thinks. _I did sort of leave him in the dark._

**Phichit Chulanont 8:03 PM**

_Yuuri? What happened??_

**Phichit Chulanont 8:06 PM**

_Yuuri????_

**Phichit Chulanont 8:08 PM**

_YUURI????????_

**Phichit Chulanont 8:09 PM**

_Are you ignoring me??_

**Phichit Chulanont 8:20 PM**

_*Mom voice* YUURI KATSUKI ANSWER ME RIGHT THIS INSTANT._

**Phichit Chulanont 8:22 PM**

_I’M GONNA GIVE YOU UNTIL THREE, MISTER_

**Phichit Chulanont 8:22PM**

_ONE_

**Phichit Chulanont 8:22 PM**

_TWO_

**Phichit Chulanont 8:24 PM**

_…TWO AND A HALF_

**Phichit Chulanont 8:25 PM**

_TWO AND. THREE QUARTERS. KDKFJS_

**Phichit Chulanont 8:26 PM**

_*Dad voice* DAMN IT YUURI LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER_

**Phichit Chulanont 8:26 PM**

_*Dad voice* THAT’S IT. GO TO YOUR ROOM_

**Phichit Chulanont 8:30 PM**

_Oh wait you’re already in your room. Uh_

**Phichit Chulanont 8:30 PM**

_Well_

**Phichit Chulanont 8:33 PM**

_OKAY NO MORE SCREENS. I’M CONFISCATING YOUR LAPTOP AND PHONE._

**Phichit Chulanont 8:35 PM**

_…Wait, but then you wouldn’t be able to read my texts._

**Phichit Chulanont 8:35 PM**

_Damn it_

**Phichit Chulanont 8:39 PM**

 _This parenting thing is harder than I anticipated._

**Phichit Chulanont 8:52 PM**

_YUURI_

**Phichit Chulanont 8:54 PM**

_YUURI. WAS HE RUSSIAN THO_

**Phichit Chulanont 8:54 PM**

 _THIS IS V. IMPORTANT_

**Phichit Chulanont 8:56 PM**

_Was it Vladimir Putin. Did you deliver katsudon to Vladimir Putin_

**Phichit Chulanont 8:57 PM**

_that’s the only russian man I can think of off the top of my head, except for like. Georgi and Gru and that one guy from that one book about the axe murderer and the horse_

**Phichit Chulanont 8:58 PM**

_At least two of them are not real._

**Phichit Chulanont 8:59 PM**

 _I’m honestly not sure which two._

**Phichit Chulanont 9:01 PM**

_Ever since I saw Georgi as von Rothbart in swan lake last year I legit just don’t know anymore. Idk. I don’t think Georgi is real_

**Phichit Chulanont 9:01 PM**

_I’m a Mature and Rational adult, Yuuri. I don’t believe in easter bunnies, unicorns, leprechauns, or Georgi Popovichs_

 

Honestly, Yuuri simply wasn’t sure where to begin with this. He opened up his snapchat. The first message was from roughly forty minutes ago and contained a simple selfie, captioned, _“YUUUUUURRRRIIIIIIII.”_

The second one featured an image of a computer screen, where an article titled, “The Importance of Communication In Healthy Relationships” had been pulled up. The actual text of the page was partially obscured by Phichit, leaning over it with a hand on his chin and a contemplative expression. The caption read, _“hmmm…”_ Yuuri snorted, unable to hold back. 

The final image was roughly the same as the previous. The only difference was that now Phichit was holding his index finger up, his expression a wide smile resembling sudden comprehension, as if a metaphorical lightbulb had illuminated above him. On top of it, the text now stated, _“I HAVE THEREFORE CONCLUDED THAT YOU MUST NOW TELL ME ALL ABOUT THE EVERYTHING.”_

Yuuri was about to respond when his phone vibrated in his hand, a new text now appearing on the screen.

**Phichit Chulanont 9:12 PM**

_Okay but seriously I’m kinda worried. What happened?_

Yuuri got up to unlock his bedroom door, and began typing a simple reply.

**Yuuri Katsuki 9:12 PM**

_come in_

He had to jump out of the way when Phichit barged into the room, no more than two seconds after he’d sent the text. He landed back on his bed, trying to get his bearings as the impact caused the springs of his mattress to jostle him around. 

“Yuuri!” Phichit exclaimed, eyes wide as he stared at Yuuri, who met his gaze with an equally surprised expression. 

“Uhh…” Yuuri began intelligently. His eyes dragged off somewhere to the side as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry, I sort of fell asleep.” 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” he waved his hand around dismissively, sliding the door shut behind him before coming to sit at the foot of Yuuri’s bed, leaning forward earnestly. “Did something happen?” He asked, immediately following the question with even more rapid-fire questions. “Did he do anything? Are you okay? Was he Russian? Was he attractive? Was he _Georgi?”_ The words came out faster than Yuuri could possibly process them, and he responded by holding out his hand in a firm halting gesture.

“Hold on a second,” He told him, and then it was silent. Yuuri looked up at the ceiling in thought, the words of the other buzzing around inside of his mind as he attempted to gain some sort of order. After a moment, Yuuri spoke up. “Kind of, yes, yes, most likely, extremely, and no.”

Now, it was Phichit’s turn to pause. He held up his index finger, processing the answers, and when it all seemed to click, he began to speak again. “Oh my god. Tell me everything.”

And so, Yuuri told him _everything._ Phichit made certain of it. Around forty minutes later, Yuuri had described everything, from the initial meeting to his farewell, down to the _smallest detail._

Really. 

By the time he was done, Yuuri had become the proud owner of the profoundly useless knowledge that Victor and Phichit, apparently, use the same brand of shampoo. For a moment, it was quiet. Phichit broke the silence.

“Okay,” he began. “So, let’s just do some inventory, here. He’s hot,” Phichit rose his hands in front of Yuuri’s face, lifting a finger that seemed to designate this first feature as _article one._ He continued raising fingers for each item as he proceeded down his mental list. “He has a poodle, he’s nice, he’s Russian-”

“Phichit, I told you-” Yuuri interjected, only to be interrupted almost immediately.

“Alright,” Phichit cut in, rolling his eyes slightly. “Let’s just say he has a sexy accent, okay?”

After a moment of hesitation, Yuuri sighed. “Fine.”

“Anyway,” he continued. “In addition to all of that, he clearly has a thing for you. Or, at the very least, he’s attracted to you.”

Yuuri’s eyes bugged out. “I don’t think that’s-”

“He touched your lips, and checked out your ass, and literally called you cute, Yuuri.” Phichit deadpanned. “Don’t even _try_ to argue with me on this. You will lose.” Yuuri stared down at the bed sheet, responding with silence, prompting the other to continue. “Anyway, all I can really say is… wow. It sounds like this guy meets all your criteria.”

“My… _criteria?”_ Yuuri squinted. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you have a type,” he explained, using his fingers to count as he went down the list again. “You like attractive, friendly, Russian dog people who make their interest in you obvious.”

“I’m sorry, _what?”_ Yuuri cocked his head, his confusion only mounting. “Where did you even get that idea? That’s so… weirdly specific.”

“Well, I mean the first two are kind of a given,” Phichit began to elaborate, crossing his legs into a more comfortable position as he delved further into his explanation. “If you’re not attracted to the person, then of course you’re not going to approach them in the first place, and if they’re an asshole, that conversation’s going nowhere. Same thing if they don’t make it blatantly obvious that they’re into you,” he leaned back against the wall, slumping slightly. “Like... Yuuri. I’ve known you for a long time, and like, you’re a smart person, but let’s be real. You’ve never been particularly great at picking up on subtle hints.”

“That’s…” Yuuri hesitated for a moment. His first instinct was to protest, to tell Phichit that _no, it’s not that I’m bad at taking hints. It’s just that the vast majority of people aren’t straightforward enough. It’s the entirety of the human race that’s the problem, not me._ The longer this thought ran through his mind, however, the more ridiculous it began to sound. Yuuri conceded. “Okay, I’ll give you that, but… dog people? I don’t have a problem with cat people, Phichit.”

“I never said you have a problem with cat people,” he retorted. “But you definitely have a problem with people who just don’t like dogs, period, like… Okay, so you were kind of drunk when this happened, but… remember Chris’ party last year?”

“Uhh…” He began, eyes dragging off to the side as he thought. “Not really?”

“Of course you don’t,” he rolled his eyes. “Well, basically, you were talking to this guy, and you seemed to be really hitting it off. He was pretty cute, and obviously into you. Then you asked him if he liked dogs, and he said no, and you just like... immediately walked away.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” Phichit nodded. “He started telling you this story about how a dog bit him when he was a little kid, or something, but you just completely ignored him and wandered off, muttering something along the lines of, ‘this isn’t going to work.’”

“No way,” Yuuri rapidly shook his head. “You’re lying; there’s no way I’d do something like that.”

“Would you do something like take off your pants, start an argument with a philosophy student about Nietzsche’s relationship with anarchism and somehow end it with the statement, ‘so obviously Mac is better than PC’?”

 _“What?”_ He blanched. _“No._ What the hell? That doesn’t even make _sense.”_

“Really,” Phichit countered, his tone dry and monotone as he stared blankly at his friend. “You don’t say.”

“No, Phichit,” Yuuri waved his hands frantically, stumbling over his words, yet speaking quickly, as if he could explain away an event the other had witnessed with his own eyes. “I mean it. That really, _genuinely_ doesn’t make sense. I haven’t even _read_ any Nietzsche!”

“Maybe you did when you were drunk,” he offered with a shrug, “and now you can only remember it after drinking. That’s… usually not how it works, but I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if that was how it worked _for you._ I mean, you’re like a completely different person when you’re drunk, Yuuri.”

 _“You don’t say,”_ Yuuri parroted.

“But in any case,” he sighed. “If you want to like, pursue the guy, I’m all for it. I’ll let you know when he calls again.” Yuuri opened his mouth, and at this, Phichit cut him off before he could say anything. “Yes, I do mean _when,_ Yuuri. Trust me, it’s only a matter of time.”

Yuuri exhaled, falling back onto his pillow and folding it over his face.

“Hey,” Phichit said after a moment, before reaching out, poking him in the side and prompting Yuuri to release his grip on the pillow in favor of looking over at his friend. “I know dating isn’t really something you’re… well-acquainted with, I guess I should say, but… Y’know, you can always hit me up if you’re in need of some bad advice.” 

Yuuri snorted. “Yeah, sure,” he replied, yawning and smiling up at the ceiling. He felt the remnants of sleep creeping back into the forefront of his mind, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to resist giving in. “You always give the best bad advice.” 

 

~*~

 

He was one his way home from the dance studio the day Yuuri got the call. It had been a little over a week since what he’d mentally dubbed _The Katsudon Incident,_ and Yuuri was beginning to feel quite pessimistic about his odds of seeing Victor again. _Maybe he really **didn’t** like it,_ Yuuri thought. _Maybe the internet was wrong, and vkusno doesn’t actually mean ‘delicious.’ It certainly wouldn’t be the first time something like that happened._

He scrolled through the music library on his phone, searching for a particular playlist within a sea of nameless others, titled out of necessity with only random jumbles of letters. _Or maybe he did like the katsudon, but just didn’t like me._ He started walking faster down the sidewalk, as if he could outrun his own thoughts. _I guess I can’t blame him. He’s probably already found another place to order from. One where he never has to worry about seeing me again._

 _“My whole family thinks I’m…”_ He heard the familiar sound of his ringtone blaring through his earbuds, and quickly unplugged them to take the call. 

“Yuuri!” Phichit practically shouted through the receiver. “Where are you right now?”

“Uhh…” he glanced up at as he approaching a crosswalk, checking his surroundings. “I’m walking on my way back from the dance studio. I’ll be home in a few minutes.”

“Good,” he could hear the other sigh in relief. “You’ll never guess who just called.”

Yuuri felt his heart jump in his chest. “Was it…” he trailed off for a moment, coming to a complete stop on the sidewalk. When he spoke again, it was almost a whisper. “Victor?”

“It was-” Phichit stopped mid-sentence, pausing for a moment before continuing. “Oh. I guess you _can_ guess.” There was another pause. Yuuri watched as the stoplights changed and he began making his way across the street. After a moment of silence, Phichit began again, with a newfound enthusiasm. “Okay, but you’ll never guess what he _said_ when he called.”

“Uhh…” After just a moment of thinking, Yuuri gave up. There were trillions of possible word combinations a person could articulate. It was pointless for him to try and guess which one Victor had used. “What’d he say?” Yuuri asked, as he reached the other side of the road.

“He said,” Phichit paused, most likely for dramatic effect. _“‘Send Yuuri.’”_

It took only him a fraction of a second to process those words, and once he had, Yuuri could practically feel them echoing inside his head. It was all so quick, so sudden. One second he was walking leisurely down the sidewalk, and the next he was running full speed toward his house. He hung up the phone as he shoved it into his pocket, but he didn’t know for certain that he’d said actually goodbye. 

 

~*~

 

The doorbell rings, and Yuuri’s shifting back and forth between his feet, keeping the take out boxes safely encased in a vice-like grip. The front door was closed this time, making the odds of Yuuri getting tackled by a full-grown Standard Poodle significantly lower, but he held on tightly, anyway, as a precaution. It was for his safety, _and more importantly, the food’s._

He found himself laughing lightly under his breath, but was quickly jolted out of his own head when the door swung open. The music he’d heard booming within the house spilled out into the open air.

Yuuri met the eyes of the same blonde teenager he’d seen the previous time, and felt himself subconsciously leaning back slightly when the boy’s expression morphed into something that could only be described as sheer, immature distaste. 

“Oh,” he stated blankly, “it’s you.”

“...It’s me,” Yuuri replied, cocking his head to the left to express his uncertainty. 

“You know,” the other leaned against the doorframe. It looked as if he had a permanent glare etched into his face. “Ever since _you_ came here, Victor’s been calling me Yuri Two _constantly.”_

“Ah,” Yuuri responded, averting his eyes from the boy. “Uh, I’m sorry, I guess?”

“I mean, it’s not your fault or anything,” his expression softened for a moment, then reverted back to its natural state. “But still, fuck you. Just… fuck you.” 

Yuuri wasn’t sure how to respond, and so he didn’t.

“I was arguing with him a few days ago, and you know what he called me?” Yuri asked, looking down at his nails in a way that Yuuri assumed was supposed to look nonchalant. “Guess.”

“Uhh…” Yuuri started, adjusting his grip on the boxes. They were beginning to feel heavy in his arms. “Yuri Two?” 

“Yuri _Three,”_ the blonde corrected, narrowing his eyes as he continued examining his cuticles. 

Yuuri blinked. “What?”

 _“Exactly,”_ he dropped his hand, looking back up at Yuuri. “I tried to ask him what the absolute _fuck_ that even means, but he won’t tell me!” The boy was almost shouting at this point. “I’m like, ‘who the hell is Yuri Two, now?’ And he just fucking shrugs at me and smiles like an asshole. So I ask him again, ‘who’s the other Yuri?’ And he just says some weird, vague shit like, ‘oh, y’know, _any Yuri.’”_

Yuuri listened as the teenager’s voice dropped to impersonate Victor’s. He wanted to laugh, but had a feeling that would only infuriate the boy further, and so he did what he always did in situations in which the appropriate response was not clear. He smiled and nodded.

“So now, whenever I bring it up he just fucking smiles at me and says, ‘you’ve been demoted’ like that’s supposed to just explain _everything._ So, I asked him what he meant and he just told me, ‘if you don’t stop asking, you’ll become _Yuri Four’_ and just… _ugh!”_ He threw his hands up in exasperation and shook his head at Yuuri. “He’s a dick. I don’t know what you see in him.”

“E-Excuse me?” Yuuri stuttered, his eyes going wide as he registered the implication of those words, and just as he was about to speak up again, he noticed a figure emerging from around the corner. When his eyes focused on the approaching person, the first thing he noticed was that it was, of course, Victor. The second thing, however, was the _minor, totally insignificant, absolutely inconsequential_ fact that the man was almost completely naked.

In fact, it took him walking into the light of the front entryway for Yuuri to realize that he was not, in fact, _completely_ naked. With his flesh-tone shorts, it was difficult to tell where he ended and the fabric began, at least from a distance. 

The third thing Yuuri noticed was that the booming music had come to an abrupt halt, and by that point, the man was right in front of him.

“Yuuri One!” He beamed, as Yuri scoffed and walked away. “It’s so nice to see you again. Here,” he held out his arms, prompting Yuuri to hand him the boxes. “Come on in!” He said, giving Yuuri no actual say in the matter as he turned and began swiftly walking inside.

Yuuri followed him, watching his muscles moving under his bare skin, only covered by a thin sheen of sweat. He found himself hoping for a quick and painless death.

 _And I thought he looked good with his clothes on,_ Yuuri swallowed.

“I hope I didn’t inconvenience anyone by asking for you,” Victor commented, setting the food down on the kitchen counter. It took Yuuri a moment to realize he was talking to him, and when he did, he hesitated. 

_Should I tell him I don’t work there?_ He debated internally. _If I don’t it’ll just be weirder later on, if I have to._

“Uhh, well, actually…” His eyes slid away from Victor’s face nervously, and wound up landing on something in the middle of the living room. He had no idea how he hadn’t noticed it before. 

It was a tall pole, reaching from the floor all the way to the high ceiling. Yuuri had a lot of questions, but he forced himself to look away. 

“Actually, I don’t technically work there,” he started, pausing for a moment before realizing how bizarre that statement sounded on its own. He waved his hands frantically. “I-I mean, it’s my parents’ business, really. I just live there and help them out sometimes.”

“You live…” Victor trailed off, offering him a bewildered looking smile. Yuuri honestly didn’t believe that sort of expression existed until he saw it demonstrated on this man’s face. “At a restaurant?”

“Well, it’s a resort, technically.” He reached his hand up to scratch the back of his neck. It was getting harder to keep his eyes off the pole. _Is he planning to attach a basketball hoop to it?_ He wondered, before realizing how little sense that would make. “People stay there, but the food got so popular locally that my parents decided to start delivering. They’re thinking about opening an actual restaurant, but I guess the logistics of that are a little more complicated than, uhh… well,” Yuuri blushed, slowing to a stop as he realized that he was rambling. When he looked up at Victor, he was given a smile that reassured him, at least somewhat.

“I see,” Victor said, and Yuuri followed the movement of his eyes as he glanced down at Yuuri’s clothes. He was blushing all over again.

“Uhh, and, well,” he began, reaching down to grip the hem of his shirt. “That’s why I’m… dressed like this. I was on my way back from the studio when you called. These are my dance clothes.”

“Really? Wow!” Yuuri watched, mesmerized as the man’s smile formed what almost looked like a heart. “These are my dance clothes, too!” He gestured down to his shorts, and Yuuri really wished he hadn’t.

After all, anything that directed Yuuri’s attention toward Victor’s current state of dress would only culminate in his infinite embarrassment, should he choose to dwell on it for too long. 

“What sort of dance do you do, Yuuri?” The sound of his name on Victor’s lips sent shivers down his spine.

“Uh-uhm, just… ballet.”

“Have you ever done pole?” Victor asked, in a way that was far too casual, at least in Yuuri’s opinion.

“I’m sorry, what?” He gaped, and suddenly everything clicked into place. Victor’s clothes, the loud music, the pole, _for god’s sake,_ right in the dead center of his living room.

But by then it was too late. 

Victor was walking toward the pole, and with his fingers encircling Yuuri’s wrist, Yuuri was, too. 

“It’s really fun!” Victor chirped. “Dancers usually pick it up really fast. At least, from what I’ve seen, they do.” All of this was in one ear and out the other for Yuuri. He stared at his distorted reflection on the chrome pole. His blush was still very much present. He wondered if it would ever really go away. “I mean, I wasn’t a dancer, exactly. I was more of a gymnast, really, but once I tried it, I was hooked. Oh!” He clapped his hands together, looking at Yuuri with a sort of innocent excitement that seemed inappropriate for the context. “You know what, I’ll just show you.” Yuuri felt his blood run cold.

Or hot.

Or both, if that was possible. Yuuri honestly wasn’t sure at this point.

“Uh-uhm…” Yuuri’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. “Is… Is that really… I guess, appropriate?” 

Victor seemed confused for a moment, but soon enough he seemed to understand, and responded by quickly waving his hands.

“Oh, no! Don’t worry, Yuuri,” he began, gesturing for Yuuri to sit down. “Pole dancing isn’t all sexual. That’s a common misconception. It probably comes from the fact that dancers don’t normally wear much. But the explanation for that is pretty simple. You need a lot of skin exposed in order to grip the pole properly,” he explained, walking toward the object in question. He wrapped his hands around it, and quickly began to climb. Once he reached the top, he paused for a moment. Then, he slowly began leaning back, allowing his crossed legs to hold him up as he hung off the pole, now completely upside down.

It was a bizarre sight, seeing this man fully inverted. Despite his position, he seemed to have no issue carrying on the conversation.

“If I were wearing normal pants, I’d probably fall on my head right now,” he smiled, before slowly sliding down the pole and into a handstand. From there, he quickly righted himself. He sighed, and wrapped his hand around the pole again. “I guess that’s probably not the only reason, though. At least part of it probably has to do with some weird phallic imagery idea.” He started walking gracefully around the pole as he went on. “I personally don’t really get that, though. Unlike much of the world, I mostly see things for what they are. As they say, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.” 

“...Right,” Yuuri choked out, just to contribute something, _anything._

“I’ve never understood people who view the world like it’s just a mishmash of dicks,” he laughed, leaning away from the pole as his hand slowly slid down it. As Yuuri watched, he couldn’t help but feel almost as if Victor’s words were directed at him personally. Logically, what the man was saying made sense, and yet here Yuuri was, mesmerized by Victor’s rhythm as he practically stroked the pole. _Almost like…_ “Honestly, I’m more inclined to notice when a guy’s dick looks like something else, rather than when something else looks like a dick.”

Yuuri nodded mutely in response.

He briefly wondered just how many dicks Victor had seen. 

“Sorry, I sort of went off on a tangent, there,” Victor laughed lightly, suddenly pulling out his phone from _god knows where._

“No, don’t worry about it!” Yuuri responded quickly. “Uh, I agree. Yeah. Good.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t keep you for too long, but if it’s alright, I’d like to show you this.” Yuuri immediately tensed as music started pouring out of the speakers, reverberating off the walls, and penetrating into his skin. Victor was walking around the pole again, and suddenly he was spinning. Yuuri felt his head spinning, too, and as a sort of defense mechanism, he forced his thoughts to focus elsewhere.

_Wouldn’t it be neat if the whole world just exploded right now?_

The song’s lyrics weren’t particularly suggestive, and objectively, Yuuri knew there wasn’t anything inherently sexual about the way Victor was moving. Perhaps if he weren’t attracted to Victor, he’d have no problem watching him move like this. 

But he _was_ attracted to Victor, and he _was_ watching Victor move like this, and this was, most definitely, a problem for him.

_Like, if the world just catapulted into the sun and exploded. Right now._

As the music began to build, Victor started climbing the pole, twirling around it as he gained altitude. When he reached the top, he settled into a sort of sitting position, before abruptly allowing himself fall backwards, turning upside down, much like how had earlier. 

Yuuri had to make a conscious effort not to squirm in his seat. The music continued to build. 

_Or perhaps if the entire universe exploded. It’s due to happen in several billion years anyway. Might as well get it over with._

As the music reached a climax of sorts, Yuuri watched as Victor suddenly slid down the pole, stopping himself just before his face could collide with the floor. He placed his hands on the floor and his legs went into a split.

_Or maybe if every person on Earth just simultaneously, but individually, exploded._

Yuuri watched as he slowly came up and out of the position. He glanced around the room, eyes searching. 

He became oddly conscious of the fact that Victor didn’t seem to have any decorative pillows lying within reach. His breathing became heavy.

From a standing position, Victor proceeded to grab the pole with both hands, kicking his legs and holding himself in the air with upper body strength alone.

_Seven billion tiny explosions._

Victor was spinning again, so quickly it, quite frankly, didn’t seem possible. He pressed his knees together, his fingers gripping the couch cushions.

_Wouldn’t that just be really neat?_

Victor swung his legs back and forth, maintaining a sort of straddle position. He used the momentum to propel himself down the pole, and it was almost like he was falling. His movements were fast, but controlled. They possessed a level of precision that had absolutely no right to look as sexy as it did to Yuuri.

_I think that’d be pretty damn neat._

Victor’s feet touched the ground, but Yuuri was still floating, unable to come down to Earth, even as the music faded into silence. It took him a while to realize that Victor was speaking to him.

“Yuuri?” He called out, and Yuuri had to physically shake himself out of his daze.

“...Wow,” Yuuri murmured. It was all he could think to say at that moment.

“Wow!” Victor parroted, although it was clearly for another reason entirely, as he bent down and examined Yuuri’s red face, and his speechless state. “Did you enjoy that?” He asked. 

“Uhh,” Yuuri began, articulately. _I really am the epitome of charisma._ “Yes, that was… really quite amazing, Victor,” he answered, without really thinking. When he glanced up at Victor’s face, he was greeted with the sight of a particularly wide smile, and that was when he realized it, that he had called Victor by his name. As far as he could remember, that was a first. He averted his eyes in slight embarrassment. He was surprised by his slip-up, but what surprised him more was how… _happy_ it seemed to make Victor. Yuuri cleared his throat as quietly as he could manage. 

“I’m glad, _Yuuri,”_ and there it was. That drop in pitch that always seemed to catch Yuuri off guard, no matter how much he heard it. 

There was no escape. 

_I need to invent an escape._

“Well, uhm,” Yuuri cleared his throat again, a bit louder this time. “I guess I should… probably, well, go,” he mumbled, his eyes looking anywhere _but_ Victor.

“Of course,” Victor replied quietly, and when Yuuri finally glanced back at him, he had a very apologetic look on his face. “Sorry to keep you for so long.”

“No, no!” Yuuri waved his hands rapidly. “It’s fine! You can, uhm, you can keep me whenever you… want… uhh,” he flushed again at the sound of Victor’s laughter. Perhaps it would’ve made him angry, if it didn’t sound _so damn melodic._

“Alright,” he smirked. “I’m holding you to that, _Yuuri.”_ He could imagine the feeling of Victor’s hot breath against his neck. Those words reverberating against his skin, giving him a _real_ reason to shiver. But the distance was far too great. 

He waved awkwardly as they said their goodbyes, and Yuuri hastily made his way outside. Once he’d reached his car, he quickly unlocked the door and grabbed his cellphone, which he’d left inside as a precaution.

Judging by the number of texts and calls from Phichit, this was apparently a good call on his part. 

He didn’t bother reading any of the messages, or listening to the voicemails, or anything, really. He tapped out a simple, but effective, message with shaky hands and sent it.

**Yuuri Katsuki 6:47 PM**

_I think this is how I die_

He started the car and put on his seat belt, trying his best to control his breathing, but even then, he still felt far too warm. He turned up the air conditioner and hoped for the best, but Yuuri knew it was no use. He could feel it catching up to him, even as he drove away. 

_He can feel the heat closing in._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALRIGHT. I actually wanted to post this yesterday, but I forgot I had a class that night, so I wasn’t able to. But it’s here now, and I’ll try to get the next chapter up on Wednesday next week, if not earlier. If the trend with Cherry Boy is anything to go by, the chapters will probably get progressively longer, as well. Idk man, it just happens lol.  
> Also, if any of u nerds are going to Katsucon, fuckin hit me up. I’ll be at katsucon, dressed as a drunk katsudon. Not literally but y’know. Wasted Yuuri.  
> Also, I post on like. Social media and shit whenever I update, so if you want to follow me or something, I’m weirdfairytales on tumblr and twitter.  
> But again, thank you guys so much for reading! Whenever I'm sad or feel insecure about my writing, I like to pull up the comments on my fics and reread them. It always makes me feel better. This fandom is honestly so huge it's like as soon as you post, your story immediately gets swallowed up in a sea of amazing fics, so thank you for choosing to click this one. I really, really appreciate it <3


	3. Some Stupid Goddamn Russian Man Who Dances On A Stupid Goddamn Pole and Makes Me Feel Stupid Goddamn Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter where I accidentally made darkness a metaphor for sex. Well, not really, but you'll see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY wow, I think that's the longest title I've ever used. I just... couldn't think of anything else? Fuck lol. But anyway, I'm sorry it took me so long to update this, I've had a lot of shit going on recently that's kind of monopolized my time. Everything's a lot calmer now, so I'll be able to update at least mostly on time lol. In any case, thank you guys for all the sweet comments! I really, really do appreciate it, even though I'm super awkward and never really know how to respond. I love you guys 5evr  
> (OH also, I want to warn whomever it may concern that there's a very, VERY brief mention of sexual assault in the first scene. It's only mentioned in passing and purely as a concept. Honestly, if you've read this note and feel alright you're almost definitely fine, but yeah. Just wanted to let you all know.)

When he entered through the front door, Yuuri was prepared to make a full retreat back to his room, lock himself up, and never come out. It took no more than one step across the hardwood floor before he was intercepted. 

“Yuuri, I swear to god, if you just go pass out in your room again, I will actually kick your door down,” Phichit threatened, emerging out of what seemed like nowhere and blocking Yuuri’s path. “You know I can do it. It’s practically made of paper.”

“Ah,” he nodded, pausing for a moment to gather his thoughts. “Alright, then. So… what do I need to do to ensure that you do _not_ cause significant property damage?”

“Yuuri,” he crossed his arms. “Don’t play dumb. Just tell me what the hell happened.” Phichit started walking toward the couch, as Yuuri followed behind him. After collapsing onto it, he spoke once again. “You know, sending me texts that say ‘I think this is how I die’ with no context other than the knowledge that you’re at some guy’s house who you’ve interacted with a grand total of two times…” He trailed off, staring up at Yuuri. “Do I really need to say anything more?”

“Uh, well…” Yuuri looked away, sitting down at the other end of the couch. “I guess if I was actually in danger I probably wouldn’t send you something like that. I mean, I probably wouldn’t send you anything at all, really. I’d just call the police.” Upon glancing back at his friend, Yuuri was met with a pointed stare that he hesitantly responded to. “And what I meant to say is ‘I’m sorry.’”

“Good job,” Phichit snorted. “But seriously, spill it. There are more than a few things in reach that I could probably destroy within a few seconds, so it’s probably in your best interest to hurry it alo-”

“-He pole dances.” Yuuri injected, the words leaving his lips so quickly he had no time to inhale prior to speaking. He felt breathless, like the hard consonants of his speech had physically knocked the wind out of him. For a moment it was silent, apart from his heavy breathing. Yuuri watched as Phichit stared blankly at him, eyes blinking slowly.

“What.” He said flatly. 

“He pole dances, Phichit,” Yuuri repeated, eyes widening as he spoke, as if the act of articulating this fact had granted him some sort of newfound understanding of it, an awareness of its gravity that he could only just now begin to feel weighing down upon his being. He felt like he was discovering the story, even as he recalled it. “He was like, naked. I mean, he was almost naked. I don’t know, but there was a pole in his living room and he- he danced for me, Phichit. Oh my god,” he groaned, curling in on himself slightly. “He _pole danced_ for me and I think it took like, ten years off my life. Or added them. God, I don’t even know.”

“He- really? Wow, that’s-” Phichit stumbled over his words, and Yuuri could almost believe he was at as much of a loss as he was. _But that would be impossible._ “That’s just… that’s, like, _really_ forward. Wow, I… I mean, Jesus Christ, _really?”_

 _“Really,”_ Yuuri nodded emphatically. “I mean, he did give me this whole speech about how pole dancing isn’t inherently sexual, or whatever, and I get what he meant but…” he trailed off, reaching up to bury his hands in his own hair and tug roughly at the roots. He could feel steam welling up inside his mind, and he exhaled his exasperation quickly through his nose. “But like, it’s kind of… sort of… _very_ meaningless, when you consider the fact that the man himself is basically sex on legs, so pretty much everything he does just _feels_ sexual, no matter what.”

“Wait,” Yuuri looked up to see the other holding up his index finger, before running out of the room without another word. When he returned, he was carrying a laptop that he hastily opened as he walked. “I’m just,” he started, but didn’t finish. Phichit pursed his lips as he stared at the screen, while Yuuri stared at him, hoping for some clue as to what he was doing. “Victor, Victor…” He mumbled quietly, eyes darting around on the screen. “Victor… Nikiforov? Yes!” He turned the screen toward Yuuri, pointing out the name in question within the log of orders from that day. Next to it was the same address Yuuri had now unintentionally memorized.

“Yeah…?” Yuuri started uncertainly, not quite sure where the other was going with this.

“Okay, hold on,” Phichit responded, turning the screen back toward himself and tapping something out on the keyboard. After a minute of silence, with intervals of seconds punctuated only by the subtle sound of occasional clicking, Phichit turned the screen back to where Yuuri could see it, just as the steady beat of music began pouring out of the speakers. It was a video.

It was a video of a pole dancer.

That pole dancer was Victor.

It was a video of Victor pole dancing. 

Yuuri almost choked on his own saliva. 

“Are you trying to kill me?” He asked, eyes practically popping out of his skull as they were inevitably drawn toward the image of Victor on the screen, moving in ways that Yuuri couldn’t understand, but nonetheless enjoyed.

“Damn, you weren’t kidding,” he remarked, as if he hadn’t heard him. “I’m actually mildly jealous of that pole.” 

_“God,_ I know, right?” Yuuri groaned, staring at the screen, positively transfixed. For a moment, they just sat there like that, watching in silence. But as the routine went on, Yuuri felt the heat gathering in his cheeks and had to force himself to look away, turning his head and face-planting straight into the couch cushion. “I can’t believe this.”

“What?”

“I just…” Yuuri sighed, turning his head slightly out to speak more clearly. “I don’t know. He’s just so… I don’t know, sensual? Like, it’s like he’s swimming in it, all the time. He basically breathes it, and I’m just kind of… drowning.”

Phichit looked away from the screen for the first time in a couple of minutes. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t even watch this,” he gestured vaguely toward the screen, “without getting flustered. I can barely talk to him as it is, and tonight was just… like, forty-five consecutive minutes of me just internally _flailing.”_ His volume began to increase, and Phichit waited patiently as he continued on, his explanation quickly devolving into a rant. “How can it be so easy for him? For _everyone._ You can watch this with a straight face; why can’t I? It just... It’s like everyone’s so comfortable with themselves, and other people, and, like, the concept of expressing sexuality being something that’s just natural, rather than a thing you need to actually learn, and I just…” He trailed off, pausing for a moment before continuing, a bit quieter this time. “It’s just never been that simple for me. I _wish_ it was that simple.”

For a while, it was quiet, apart from the sound of music from Victor’s routine blaring through the mediocre speakers of the laptop. Yuuri was just beginning to wonder if he’d said too much, if he ought to apologize, when Phichit broke the silence. 

“Well,” Yuuri looked up as his friend began speaking. His expression was sober and thoughtful. “Maybe you should try pole dancing, Yuuri.” 

Yuuri stared back at him, blinking slowly as he processed those words. For a while, he was speechless.

“I’m sorry, _what?”_ He said, glaring in confusion. “Were you even listening to me? I _just_ told you that expressing sexuality is not a thing I’m comfortable with, and you’re telling me to _pole dance?”_

“Well, yeah. I mean,” He sat up a bit straighter, holding his hands up in a defensive sort of gesture. “Don’t take this the wrong way. I’m not trying to dismiss your concerns, or anything, I’m just…” he trailed off for a moment, glancing up in thought. “You could think of it like exposure therapy, or something.”

“Exposure therapy?” He parroted. “Phichit, this isn’t just like being afraid of spiders, or heights, or some other outside thing that I can just force myself to get used to.”

“And I’m not saying it is,” Phichit replied, sighing in exasperation. “Look, Yuuri, I’m not trying to minimize this. I understand that this is a thing that genuinely bothers you, which is why I’m being one-hundred percent serious when I say that trying pole dancing might actually be good for you.”

Yuuri’s glare softened, although his expression remained rife with uncertainty. Still, the other’s words reassured him at least somewhat, and with a sigh, he decided to humor him, at least for now. 

“Why do you say that?”

“I read an article once,” he closed the laptop and leaned back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling as he continued, “that said pole dancing is actually really helpful for increasing self-confidence, especially sexually.” He glanced over at Yuuri. “Apparently, a lot of therapists actually recommend it to assault survivors as a way of ‘reclaiming their sexuality,’ so to speak.”

Yuuri blinked, absorbing the information. The more he thought about it, the more logical it began to sound.

“It’s true that it’s not all sexual, though,” he went on to explain. “I mean, a lot of the major competitions actually have a juniors category.”

“Wait, seriously?” Yuuri gaped, leaning forward. “Isn’t that a bit too… controversial? I mean, even if it’s not actually sexual, that doesn’t change the fact that most people _think_ it is.”

“I guess so,” Phichit shrugged. “I mean, it’s probably not much of an issue because it’s still kind of a niche thing. Most people don’t even know there _are_ major pole dancing competitions, much less the actual details of how they work. It’s not really the kind of information you’re likely to come across unless you’re already interested in pole dancing.”

“Okay,” Yuuri began slowly, narrowing his eyes. “So, how did _you_ come across this information?”

“Oh, well,” he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “For a while, I was actually thinking of doing it. I mean, between ballet, jazz, tap, modern, and hip-hop… it’s almost the only kind of dance I’m _not_ doing.” 

“Alright,” he nodded, pressing on with, “and why _didn’t_ you do it?”

“At the time there weren’t really any studios near me,” he replied, absently fidgeting with a seam on the couch cushion. “It didn’t really seem worth it to invest in an actual pole knowing I might not even like it, you know?”

“So where-”

“Chris.” He interrupted, head snapping to face his friend.

Yuuri almost jolted at the sudden movement. “What?”

“Chris, you know,” he waved his hand around vaguely. “Christophe?”

“I know who Chris is, Phichit,” Yuuri rolled his eyes. “What _about_ him?”

“Well, there’s a pole studio that opened a few years ago and, well,” he explained. “Guess who teaches there?”

“No way.”

“Yes way.” He nodded emphatically. “Are you honestly surprised?”

“I mean, not really, but…” he trailed off, eyes drifted off to the side, staring out the dark window, gazing at nothing.

After a moment of silence, Phichit spoke up. “You should get in touch with him,” he said, and Yuuri didn’t respond, just continued looking through the glass at the darkness that surrounded them. “Yuuri.” Phichit said sharply, and Yuuri slowly dragged his eyes away from the window, redirecting his attention toward his friend. He blinked, looking at the other expectantly. “You’re a great dancer, you know that?”

“Uhh,” he averted his eyes again. “I mean, I guess so. At _ballet.”_

“I know it’s not the same thing,” Phichit conceded, “but think of it like this. Dancing has always come pretty naturally to you, right?”

“Sure,” he shrugged, still looking away. Somewhere along the line his eyes had made their way back to the window. It was much too dark out to actually see anything, especially with the bright lights of the room around them, but Yuuri fixated on it nonetheless. Slowly, he stood up and wandered over to it.

“Well,” Phichit said, and in Yuuri’s mind, his voice came from someplace very far away. “If your goal is to be able to express your sexuality naturally, maybe it would make sense to try and accomplish that using something that already comes naturally to you.”

Yuuri hummed, reaching out to touch the glass. Despite the cold, winter night, he somehow expected it to feel hot to the touch, as if the darkness surrounding the building could be made tangible in the form of a sweltering heat. One he could almost embrace, if he wasn’t so afraid it would burn him. 

“I’ll think about it,” he replied softly, and as he lifted his hand away, the prints he left on the glass seemed like preludes to cracks. He could almost visualize the glass shattering before him, as the darkness outside flooded in and threatened to swallow him whole. 

_He could feel the heat closing in._

 

~*~

 

“Yuuri. Yuuri. Yuuri. Yuuri. Yuu-”

“What?” He turned his head sharply, his eyes meeting the faces of Axel, Lutz and Loop. After engaging in the necessary split second of processing required to differentiate between the three, he focused his attention on Axel.

“Is this right?” She asked, placing her hand on the barre before proceeding to show him an earnest, if clumsy, jump from fifth position.

“Well…” He trailed off momentarily, before continuing to ask, “first, what exactly are you trying to do?” 

“I think Minako-Sensei called it…” She rested a hand against her chin, squinted, and Yuuri could practically see the cogs turning in her head as she attempted to recall the name of the move. “Onsha… cot?” She tried.

“Oh, entrechat,” Yuuri corrected, standing up and walking across the studio. “Can you do it again?” 

The girl nodded, and he noted the death grip she had on the barre as she attempted the jump once again, then looked up and met Yuuri’s eyes, searching for some kind of indication as to whether she was right or wrong. 

“Almost,” he replied, turning toward the mirror, preparing to demonstrate. “You have the right idea, but entrechat doesn’t change feet, see?” He lifted his front foot, moved it behind his other, then closed the movement back where he started. “It beats back and closes front. At least, in _your_ case it does.” He jumped up into the air, showing the movement at full speed. “What you’re doing is more like a royale, which beats once and changes feet, like this,” he demonstrated the movement, jumping from fifth and beating once in the air, before landing as his front foot became his back. “Try it again.”

The girl glared down at her feet, concentrating as she attempted the jump. Her feet moved slowly, causing her to land awkwardly somewhere between fifth position and first. But Yuuri knew that speed would come with time. Her footwork was essentially correct, and that was all that mattered right now.

“Like that?” She asked.

“Pretty much,” he nodded, walking back toward the opposite end of the room. “Keep practicing it; it’ll get easier eventually. Oh, and,” he paused, looking over his shoulder. “The barre did nothing wrong. Please, try not to strangle it.” With that, he gave a smile and continued on to the other end of the room, situating himself on the floor as he began searching through his bag. 

This wasn’t an official class, and Yuuri wasn’t an official teacher, not really. But with Yuuko, their mother, as well as a professional figure skater, away for competition season, this sort of babysitting had become relatively routine. Yuuri didn’t mind. Although the triplets were certainly strange and had a tendency toward mischief, Yuuri rarely viewed watching them as an inconvenience. 

After all, the studio was practically a second home to him. Take the triplets out of the equation, and ultimately, not much would change. Yuuri would still be here, digging through his bag in search of his toe pads. This was routine. It was normal.

When he finally found them, he placed them over his feet beneath his tights, and began tying the ribbons on his shoes. He’d gotten it down to under five seconds per foot, and if he really concentrated- 

“Yuuri. Yuuri. Yuuri.” Lutz called out.

“Yuuri.” Loop added. 

“Yuuri. Yuuri.” Axel joined in. Yuuri watched in slight amusement as the three joined together, all chanting his name in unison. After a while, he began to wonder if there was any actual reason for it, a question that needed to be answered, or anything that would warrant his attention. But for almost a full minute the girls seemed perfectly content repeating his name in a chant permeated by giggles. When their volume began to increase, Yuuri spoke up for the sake of his eardrums. 

“Can I help you?” He interjected, checking the ribbons for security before standing up.

“Why do you wear those?” Lutz asked, and for a moment Yuuri wasn’t sure what she meant. Then he saw her eyes, how they were directed down toward the floor, his feet, his shoes. 

_Pointe shoes._

“...Because it’s fun,” he replied slowly, looking down at his feet and blinking, drawing a blank as he wondered how else he could answer. Yuuri used to know. 

Back around the time he’d first started doing pointe work, he had formulated a lengthy explanation, which he had set aside in his mind in the event that anyone questioned or even criticized his reasoning. But, contrary to what his anxiety would have him believe, people didn’t judge him for it nearly as often as it would seem. In fact, they seldom brought it up at all.

“Don’t girls usually do that?” Lutz continued to press. 

“Are you a girl, Yuuri?” Axel chimed in.

“What else have you not told us?” Loop added, staring at Yuuri with an intensity that was almost unsettling. “What other lies have you bestowed upon our naive minds? What secrets lie on the other side of the rabbit hole? Can you really say it’s as innocuous as it seems?”

“I’m sorry, did you just use the word _‘innocuous’?”_ Yuuri blanched. “How old are you again?”

“Yuuri’s changing the subject!” Axel shouted, pointing an accusing finger at him.

“Don’t change the subject!” Lutz added.

 _“Okay,”_ Yuuri sighed in exasperation. “It’s not that big of a deal, really,” he stated, turning to meet the eyes of his reflection as he absently brushed his bangs away from his face. _If only I could remember where I put my headband…_ When he glanced back over at the triplets, he found them still watching him, their gaze intense and pointed. Yuuri sighed again. “Okay, so… most people are ready for pointe shoes by the time they’re twelve. Sometimes it’s earlier, or later, but… that doesn’t really matter. Anyway, when I was around ten years old is when a lot of the girls my level started getting theirs, and, well…” Yuuri smiled fondly. He could still remember the first time he saw Yuuko go up en pointe. How strong she looked, and how envious he felt. “I guess I was kind of jealous. So, I asked Minako-sensei if I could do it too, and she didn’t seem to see anything wrong with it, and… well, yeah.”

The girls nodded, seeming satisfied with that answer.

 _And why wouldn’t they be,_ Yuuri thought. _They’re kids. Kids don’t care about gender roles._

He approached the barre to begin warming up his feet, staring straight ahead as he went through the same exercises he did every day, repeating each one for every position. When he was done, he stepped out into the center of the room, watching himself in the mirror as he practiced the movements for the solo he’d been working on for the past few weeks. 

Yuuri didn’t say everything he could’ve in his explanation to the triplets. Truthfully, there was a lot more to his unconventional decision to attempt pointe work than simple fun. At the time of his decision, he was too young to fully understand the feelings that lead him to it. But Yuuri was older now, and he’d had a lot of time to overanalyze himself.

 _What it really comes down to is this,_ he thought, and with one foot in passé, the other sprung up en pointe, as he made eye contact with himself in the vast studio mirror. _This feeling._

He could feel all his muscles engaging with each movement he executed, all working incredibly hard to maintain that level of control that gave the illusion of ease. This was strength. It was power. It was difficult, intense, beautiful, and feminine. It was… well, Yuuri. As cheesy as it sounded, it embodied everything Yuuri strived for. Everything he felt deep inside that only seemed to come out while dancing. He leaped into the air and landed silently on his feet. When he went up again, his feet seemed to vibrate as they carried him across the room, and he was floating. In this delicate display, Yuuri was invincible. 

As he danced, he could hear the music booming from inside himself within the otherwise quiet room. Each movement amplified the song, and the illusion was only broken when another sound squeezed its way into his personal atmosphere and made itself at home. It would’ve been jarring if he wasn’t so used to it. 

“Yuuri. Yuuri. Yuuri,” The steady chanting of his name had the precision of a metronome, slowly rising in volume. Yuuri smiled softly to himself. All the triplets joined in, and it didn’t sound like they’d be stopping anytime soon. 

“Yuuri! Yuuri! Yuuri!” He heard, echoing faintly off the walls of the studio, and in the music’s absence, he danced to that beat instead. 

 

~*~

 

By the time Yuuri had gone home for the day, his muscles felt uncharacteristically sore, and the cold winter air had dried the sweat on his forehead. After a quick shower, he was fully prepared, both mentally and physically, to simply pass out in his bed. Or so he thought.

Just like many nights before, Yuuri saw his phone calling to him from where it lay on the sheets. As it turns out, sleepiness induced by a combination of hot water and fatigue was nothing a few hours mindlessly staring into the bright screen of his phone couldn’t fix. He resigned himself to his fate, and proceeded to spend the next thirty minutes in darkness, cycling through the same four social media apps, refreshing each one, until even his mind in its zombie-like state could no longer justify doing so. 

Just as he was about to go to sleep, he suddenly remembered the video Phichit had pulled up the other night. _I really only half watched it,_ he recalled, staring up at the ceiling, despite being unable to actually see it in the darkness of his room. _I **couldn’t** watch it. Not with Phichit right there,_ he told himself, and that was the moment when, ironically in the pitch black room, Yuuri felt a light bulb illuminating above his head, as he scrambled to grab his phone off its charger. 

_Victor N… something._ He struggled to recall, as he pulled up a new browser window and began his frantic search. _It definitely starts with an N, and… it ends with an “-ov,” maybe? Okay, I’m one-hundred-percent sure about the N._ But the longer he spent searching to no avail, the less sure he became. With each iteration, he changed his spelling slightly, hoping for results, but after thirty minutes of frustrated searching, all he had to show for it was a long list in his search history of names that were definitely _not_ Victor’s. 

_Does he even exist?_ He wondered, glaring at the screen. _What, did I just **imagine** a half naked Russian man pole dancing for me? Was **none** of that real?_

_The reaction in my pants seemed pretty goddamn real._

He huffed as he felt his face heat up slightly, and tapped the search bar once again, triggering the caps lock to emphasize his frustration before rapidly typing out: _“SOME STUPID GODDAMN RUSSIAN MAN WHO DANCES ON A STUPID GODDAMN POLE AND MAKES ME FEEL STUPID GODDAMN THINGS.”_

He practically punched the screen as he hit the search button, waiting patiently as the webpage loaded with a tight smile on his face. He knew full well that nothing was going to come up.

But the internet, as it turns out, is full of surprises. Some of them are even good, too, as Yuuri found as he stared in utter disbelief at the thousands of search results that came up just a few seconds later. 

_“What the hell?”_ He whispered to himself, eyes going wide as he tapped the ‘images’ tab, and quick a glance was all it took to confirm that yes, this was, indeed, the Victor he’d been searching for. Going back to the main search results page, he found that a significant portion of the entries came from Tumblr and Twitter. Upon going through a couple of them, he discovered that these entries largely consisted of fans of Victor’s screaming about the man in more or less the same format as what Yuuri had just googled. He wasn’t sure whether to feel amused or disturbed, and wound up in an awkward state of limbo between both that he only managed to shake when his brain became overloaded with the myriad of Victor-themed media practically jumping out of his screen. With images, gifs, interviews, articles, videos, and everything in between now so readily available to him, he suddenly had no idea where to begin.

Fortunately, within this haphazard mess of media, between the pictures and the videos all mixed up into a beautiful disaster, Yuuri managed to find what he’d been looking for the entire time: Victor’s full name. 

He copied it into the search engine, and from there, the results only broadened, but he tapped the wikipedia page titled “Victor Nikiforov,” figuring it was as good a place to start as any. 

It was a lot of information to take in, and Yuuri couldn’t help the nagging feeling that what he was doing was probably extremely creepy, but he couldn’t make himself stop reading. It felt as if everything was finally beginning to make sense with each word he processed.

Victor, as it turned out, had been an olympic gymnast several years prior. He’d won the individual all-around gold medal in artistic gymnastics multiple times, receiving some of the highest scores in recent years. 

Yuuri thought back to what he’d said the other night, _‘I was more of a gymnast, really,’_ and barely resisted the urge to slap himself across the face. 

When he finally got to the part detailing Victor’s transition to pole dancing, Yuuri was met with a monstrously large section describing the mixture of praise and criticism Victor had received. 

Some condemned him, arguing that Victor, as a public figure, had an obligation to be a good role model for the thousands of children who looked up to him. Others applauded him for being unashamed to do what he loved, and for bringing pole dancing into the public eye in the context of athleticism and artistry. In recent years, large amounts of people had come forward to commend him for his role in the ongoing effort toward destigmatizing the activity, opening the door for many to pursue pole dancing with less fear of judgement. 

It was all quite intriguing, and Yuuri almost forgot the nature of just what he was reading about… and then he came upon a list of Victor’s performances, each one conveniently, _or inconveniently, depending on how you look at it,_ linking to its own respective video. As his eyes flicked over the dozens of entries, Yuuri swallowed in a way that was comically audible. With shaking hands, he tapped the most recent video and waited for the page to load. He could feel his heart pounding inside his chest, and he jolted in his bed at the sound of the bass vibrating from his phone, quickly turning the volume down in response. The screen faded in from darkness, and Yuuri almost flung his phone away when Victor appeared on screen. 

He couldn’t help it. It was a defense mechanism, and one he sorely needed, because frankly, nothing could’ve prepared him to see Victor’s hips gyrating against the pole, as his eyes looked up at the camera from beneath his lashes. He could almost be convinced he was witnessing something straight out of a strip club, if it weren’t for the intense, intricate movements he performed so flawlessly. 

Victor’s muscles flexed as he held himself up horizontally, only two hands gripping the pole for support, before a sudden movement transformed his position into a full inversion. When he started to spin, his body moved in ways that were as confusing as they were arousing, the complicated moves executed in a way that seemed so absurdly natural that Yuuri almost couldn’t imagine Victor doing anything else. If he was being honest, he couldn’t look away if his life depended on it. 

He couldn’t look away, but hands still shook. His face still flushed. His breath was still heavy, and his palms were still sweaty, and the muscles in his thighs still clenched beneath the covers as he shifted his hips and _squirmed_ because his-

_Fuck._

Yuuri flung the sheets over his head, as if hiding from something that wasn’t there, the glow of his phone screen illuminating the space beneath the covers. He breathed in the stuffy air as sweat began to gather on his forehead and curled up inside this flimsy fortress of his, one hand clutching his phone, the other hand gripping the hem of his shirt unconsciously. 

The way Victor moved was criminal. As far as Yuuri was concerned, this was an irrefutable fact, but while it certainly wasn’t doing anything to turn him _off,_ it wasn’t the main thing that really _got_ him, either. 

No, the thing that really _got_ him, that really _killed_ him, was the way Victor looked into the camera with that sexy, mischievous, _knowing_ expression, as if he could see straight through the lens and into Yuuri’s head.

Yuuri bit his lower lip, making simulated eye contact with the Victor on screen. His face was flushed from exertion, and Yuuri could only assume that he looked roughly the same at this point, but as long as Victor continued to dance, Yuuri continued to watch. He felt shivers run down his spine with each penetrating glance Victor granted him, and it was almost as if he could _see_ him. 

His eyes, somehow penetrating the layers of walls spanning the miles that separated them, and the thin, yet hot sheet that Yuuri hid beneath. It was like he _knew,_ better than Yuuri himself, even, about the reaction he was evoking from him, and any path Yuuri chose would be laid bare before his eyes. 

If he chose to continue lying tense and curled up beneath his covers, Victor would know. 

If he chose to get out of bed, make himself some tea and simply forget about it all, Victor would know. 

If he chose to shed the covers, his clothes, and anything else that stood between his bare skin and the open air, if he chose to remain there in his bed, Victor’s name rumbling in his throat, tasting sweet on his tongue as it dripped from his lips, while he touched himself slowly, _shamelessly,_ to Victor’s image... _Victor would know._ He would know, and somewhere, miles away from here, Yuuri was sure he’d be paying very close attention, amused eyes locked on him as he watched him wiggle and squirm and _dance._

 _And this is only the beginning,_ he thought, as he clicked the next video, and the next video, _and the next._

Several videos, many of which he had sheepishly bookmarked _for science,_ later, he still had yet to see even half of the routines the internet had to offer. His mouse hovered over another, and Yuuri swore to himself for the fifth time that night that this would be the last one. He squeezed his legs tighter to his chest as he waited for it to load, heartbeat picking up in anticipation.

But it was different this time. 

He knew as soon as the soft, melodic music began to pour from his phone’s speakers, and as the video faded in from darkness, Yuuri’s breath caught in his throat.

It was still Victor, of course. He was still wearing less than modest clothing, but his actions were soft, fluid and graceful. He held himself with a level of strength and control that Yuuri, as a ballet dancer, couldn’t help but appreciate, and his movements were filled with such emotion that Yuuri felt as though he was witnessing an earnest story portrayed through images, all painted in delicate strokes right before his eyes. There was no other way to describe it. Yuuri was utterly entranced. 

He almost wanted to believe he was simply reading too much into it, but as the dance went on, Yuuri couldn’t shake this feeling it seemed to evoke within him. It was something in the expressions Victor made. It was the slow, lingering movements he created, as he moved with the music, which made it appear almost as though the music was moving with him, instead. Everything about it conveyed a sort of somber desperation, and it resonated with Yuuri in a profound way. 

_Loneliness._

When the video finally ended, Yuuri continued to stare at the black screen for almost a full minute afterward, before slowly emerging from the sheets, gazing into the total darkness that was his bedroom. For a while, he just stayed that way. 

A sudden impulse overcame him, and he quickly unlocked his phone, scrambling to pull up the messenger app. As soon as he found Chris in his contacts list, he composed a quick message and sent it before he had a chance to convince himself otherwise. 

**Yuuri Katsuki 2:03 AM**

_Hey you teach at that pole studio, right? I think I’d like try it._

With that, he practically leapt out of his bed, switching on the lights before heading to the bathroom to wash his face. He knew he probably wouldn’t receive a response until morning, and for the time being, he left his phone lying on his bed, hoping to distance himself from the situation in some superficial way. 

After a few minutes of scrubbing, drying, and making awkward eye contact with his own reflection, _didn’t even know that was possible,_ he returned to his room and flopped down on his bed, feeling marginally more relaxed than he was when he left. This relaxation did not last. 

Suddenly, he both heard and felt the vibration of his phone against his side, and nearly leapt out of his bed a second time. He grabbed the device, glanced at the screen, and in retrospect, he knew he really should have expected this. Chris was known for staying up late, presumably partying, or doing... whatever it is Christophe Giacomettis _do_ at two in the morning. But even without the initial shock of receiving the message, he knew nothing could’ve really prepared him for the words it contained. 

Yuuri stared, bewildered, as he read the text over a few times to himself. He tried to make some sort of sense of it, but his efforts were ultimately in vain. 

**Christophe Giacometti 2:10 AM**

_We always knew you were a ticking time bomb, Yuuri Katsuki ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ughhh it took WAY too long for me to write this. I got distracted with school shit and preparing for katsucon. Plus, this chapter was sort of difficult for me. I’m used to writing things that are extremely heavy on dialogue, because most of the humor in my stories derives from character interaction. By my standards, there’s not very much dialogue in this chapter lol, and if you’ve read Cherry Boy, you probably know that parts with less dialogue and more description can only mean one thing: lots of weird fucking imagery and dumb, cliche symbolism. Hooray. I literally can’t help it. That shit just comes out, man. It’s like I tore up and ate a copy of The Great Gatsby and promptly vomited onto a copy of Crime and Punishment. Or any other combination of books that fuck around with symbolism a lot. Take your pick.
> 
> Also, if I'm being honest, I don't really like how this chapter turned out. The fact that Victor doesn’t really appear here had me feeling kinda bleh toward it in general. He’ll be in the next one though, and probably almost every other chapter afterward tbh. This is sort of the calm before the storm. Next chapter will be on time though, I swear, because I don't have any excuses lol. 
> 
> Also did I mention this is basically a fucking self-insert lmao? Well, not really. I’m just drawing really heavily on personal experience. I’m actually a ballet dancer who started learning pole dancing fairly recently.  
> SO YEAH. Thank you guys, and I'll see you all in a week or less 
> 
> Edit: Oh!! I almost forgot to mention, Victor's emotional pole dance is partially based off an actual routine. This is the video it was inspired by, if anyone is interested: https://youtu.be/twj2r9rnhTI?list=PL35R5swIGdXdCScSIurQbTWcit_4f5ArG


	4. You Don't Get Free Food for Fucking the Delivery Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I like to think of the pole like a dance partner. One that can never disappoint me by forgetting to put the clothes in the dryer, or coming too soon." - Christophe Giacometti

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH BOY. So, here’s a chapter that turned out _WAY_ longer than it should’ve been. With Cherry Boy, I kinda adopted the philosophy that chapters would just be as long as they need to be, because it was a good few chapters in before the word count started breaking 10k and I figured anyone who stuck around that long wouldn’t mind. This story is still pretty new though, so I kinda worry that some people will be scared away by the word count lol. Hopefully that’s not the case, but ya never know. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter! This is where we begin to see the first signs of SPICY KATSUDON.

_Maybe the only real freedom in life comes from embracing its meaninglessness._

_That’s really the root of absurdism, isn’t it? There is no inherent goodness or evil, no universal truth. We can never hope to answer the question of why bad things happen to good people because the concept of good people and bad people doesn’t actually exist in any concrete way. There are no good people. There are no bad people. We’re all just floating around, just specks upon specks upon specks, inside this vast, empty room we call the universe. The meaning of life is only that which we impose on it. There is no intrinsic value. Even if there was, how could we ever hope to find it when our search is confined to the narrow scope of the human perspective? This is the world we live in, colossal and jagged. There is no truth. There is no justice. There is no escape. There is only-_

“Yuuri?” Victor called out to him, and it was only then that he realized the music had stopped. He blinked dumbly as he stared up at the older man, trying to gather his thoughts into something even vaguely coherent. 

“S-sorry,” he stuttered out. “I… kind of zoned out, I guess,” he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and averted his eyes. When he glanced back at the man, he was met with a rather odd expression, and Yuuri scrambled to amend his statement. “I-I mean, I was watching you, I swear! I was just kind of… uhh.”

Victor laughed goodnaturedly. “Don’t worry about it Yuuri, _I understand.”_ He winked.

_He winked._

 _Who gave him the right-_

“But seriously,” he continued, clapping his hands together excitedly, a wide smile spreading across his face. “What did you think?” 

_What did I think? What did I **think?** _

_Well, Mr. Stupid Goddamn Russian Man who dances on a stupid goddamn pole and makes me feel stupid goddamn things, I’ll tell you what I **think.**_

“I thought it was uh, good,” he squeaked. 

“Aww, that’s a shame,” He gave an exaggerated pout, and Yuuri had no time to be confused. “I was really hoping you’d think it was bad.”

“...Excuse me?” Yuuri cocked his head and barely resisted the urge to run when Victor’s hand moved to caress his heated cheek, lifting his face with the slightest amount of pressure. Not so much that Yuuri couldn’t easily get out of it, but enough to convey a sort of nonverbal agreement. _Stay._

“Oh, you know,” he leaned in slightly. “Call it whatever you wish. Dirty, naughty, filthy. Whatever pleases you, Yuuri,” his warm smile quickly evolved into a smirk, and Yuuri almost choked on his own saliva. 

“Oi, Victor,” Yuuri’s head snapped instinctively toward the source of the voice, his eyes settling on an obviously irritated Yuri. The teenager was currently lying across an armchair at the other side of the room, speaking freely even as he continued to stuff his mouth full of katsudon. “Yah gah gif hin a fat in hap a cat.” 

And there, presented on Victor’s face, was perhaps the most confused smile he had ever witnessed.

“...What was that, Yuri two?”

“I sah-”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” he scolded. 

“Fuh-” Yuri cut himself off, pausing to swallow his food before continuing his tirade. “Fuck you, you’re not my _real dad.”_

“I never claimed to be your real dad,” Victor replied, his cheerful tone a direct contrast to Yuri’s ever-present anger. “I never even claimed to be anything resembling a father to you. If anyone, that role goes to Yakov.” He paused. “Where is Yakov, anyway?”

“How the fuck should I know?” He nearly shouted, and Yuuri leaned back in surprise. Honestly, he wasn’t sure how Victor was able to be so nonchalant about the blonde’s yelling. Logically, Yuuri knew that he must just be used to it, but he couldn’t help but doubt that this was the sort of thing one truly could get used to. _Was I like that when I was fifteen?_ “He’s probably out drinking, or some shit.”

“Yakov still drinks?” 

“He drinks to forget you.” 

“That’s alright, I drink to forget him too,” Victor grinned, doing a single lap around the pole before continuing. “I still hear his screeching in my dreams, though.”

“At least you don’t have to hear it in real life anymore,” Yuri remarked bitterly, with a roll of his eyes. “Anyway, fucking tone it down, will you? You’re gonna give katsudon boy a fucking heart attack.”

Yuuri, not really knowing how, if at all, he should respond to that comment, quickly redirected his attention to the food he’d brought for himself. He hadn’t gotten the chance to eat before Victor’s order came in, and in a last-minute, impulsive decision, decided to bring extra food for himself, hoping Victor wouldn’t think it too much of an imposition. To Yuuri’s complete relief, he didn’t. In fact, Victor seemed utterly thrilled. 

He stuffed his mouth full of katsudon, for no other reason than because he, as a mature non-teenager, wouldn’t be expected to speak in that condition. 

_And, okay, because katsudon is also just really, really good._

“Ah, Yuuri, do you have any cardiac conditions I should know about?” Yuuri’s eyes snapped up to meet the teasing gaze of Victor. 

“Wuh-” He snapped a hand over his full mouth, before he could make a fool of himself _any further,_ and simply shook his head, which apparently prompted Victor to plop down next to him, just a little too close, and wrap his arm around Yuuri’s stiff shoulders. 

“You stand corrected, Yuri two,” he chirped, although his eyes remained focused on Yuuri, who returned the gaze with flushed cheeks.

“Shut the fuck up, Victor,” the teenager grumbled.

“You stand corrected, Yuri three,” Victor countered, with a tone that was no less cheerful.

_“I’m gonna rip off your head and shit down your neck!”_ Yuri shouted, lurching forward awkwardly due to his positioning in the chair. Yuuri jolted, and felt Victor’s arm tighten around him in response, and if his face hadn’t already been burning from Victor’s initial advances, it certainly would be, now.

“Wow, I like that one! It’s creative,” Victor complimented, glancing over at the boy for the first time since he sat down. “Still, the fact remains. You stand corrected… Yuri twenty-seven.”

“What the shit?!” Yuri shouted, now standing up, his fists clenched, and steam practically flowing out of his ears. “Stop fucking doing that!” 

“You’re lucky I don’t fire you from it completely.”

“You can’t fire me from my own fucking name, you son of a bitch!” He pointed an aggressive finger at Victor, who seemed completely unphased, apart from the way he leaned into Yuuri ever-so-slightly more. _It’s almost... protective?_ “That doesn’t make any goddamn sense!” 

“Yuri twenty-seven, as you get older, I think you’ll find that there are two things in life that make absolutely no sense.” He lifted his free hand to his face and pressed his index finger to his lips. “The first one is the new olympic scoring system for gymnastics,” and then, it was silent as both Yuri and Yuuri waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, Yuri released an aggravated groan.

“Yeah? What’s the fuck is the second thing?”

Victor’s eyes closed as his smile brightened impossibly further, until the formation of his mouth almost resembled a heart. “Everything else.”

The sound Yuri made was somewhere between a gurgle and a scream, and the boy promptly stomped out of the room. Somewhere in the distance, Yuuri heard a door slam.

 

~*~

 

When the day finally came, Yuuri was anxiously searching around his room for a clean pair of shorts. Chris had told him that in the beginning, he really only needed to wear form-fitting clothing, but the studio website had said shorts and, well… Yuuri wanted to stay on the safe side. Phichit was sitting in his desk chair, watching in patient silence as Yuuri dug through drawers and piles of clothing. When he finally found what he was looking for, Yuuri slipped on his shoes and turned toward his friend. 

“Do I look okay?” He asked nervously. 

“Well, you look a bit like something out of an 80’s workout video,” he mused, finger tapping his chin as he examined to other. “But I think you pull it off pretty well.” 

Yuuri huffed, “Wow, thanks for the A-plus reassurance, Phichit.” He strode over to his closet, opening it up to the full length mirror inside. He could see what the other was talking about. The shorts he wore were bright pink, and although he wasn’t technically wearing legwarmers, his tall, neon blue socks were not far off the mark. Fortunately, that was the end of it. The outfit was completed with a simple white t-shirt and the black headband he’d spent weeks looking for, only to find it just a few minutes prior, trapped under a pile of clothes when he wasn’t even searching for it. He sighed and checked the time on his phone. Upon coming to the realization that he definitely did not have time to change clothes, Yuuri simply threw on a long coat, and with that, they were off.

Phichit had agreed to come along, partly out of curiosity, but mostly out of moral support. When they arrived, Yuuri trailed behind him as they entered the waiting area, his head facing downward, and only looking up when he heard the sound of muffled music from within one of the studios. 

Chris had been nice enough, _at least I think that’s what it was,_ to offer Yuuri a very generous deal on private lessons, which was, in equal measure, both less and more intimidating. Less, because the number of eyes on him would be reduced substantially. More, because that also meant that Chris’ attention would be focused almost exclusively on him, and Yuuri honestly wasn’t sure which would be worse. 

It wasn’t that he was ungrateful. He appreciated Chris’ help immensely, but his anxiety toward the whole situation in general compounded with the manner in which the offer was made to him…

**Christophe Giacometti 2:38 AM**

_What a privilege it is to get to be there to as a witness when Yuuri Katsuki finally wraps his legs around something. If I could I’d probably do it for free tbh._

...Well, let’s just say it wasn’t exactly working wonders for his nerves. Still, Yuuri took a deep breath and tried to relax as he sat down next to Phichit. Through a window, Yuuri could see one of the classes. From the looks of it, it was just finishing up.

Right on cue, the door swung open and several students began pouring out. Yuuri kept his eyes downcast, not wanting to make eye contact with any of the others, and remained that way until another voice piped up and forced him to look up.

“Ah, Yuuri!” His head snapped up to meet the gaze of Chris, who was now approaching him wearing nothing but a tank top and shorts so tiny that the physics of them did not seem to align with reality. Yuuri was briefly conflicted, caught between the instinct to ponder it and the intense will to avoid understanding it on any level. He stood up and diligently kept his eyes at face level. “I thought I recognized that pile of discomfort incarnate.”

“Nice to see you too, Chris,” Yuuri laughed softly, rolling his eyes. 

“And Phichit!” He smiled, stepping a bit closer. “Great to see you again! It’s been such a long time.”

“Yeah!” Phichit beamed. “I think the last time I saw you was at your party last year.”

“Oh, _that_ was certainly a night to remember,” and there was something about his tone, the way he glanced over at Yuuri, that raised a red flag of sorts for him, activating his _‘avoid this conversation at all costs’_ response.

“So anyway, I guess we should go inside!” The words tumbled out of him so quickly, it’s a miracle he didn’t stutter. 

“Eager, are we?” Chris teased, but nonetheless obliged, turning to saunter back toward the open door of the now-vacant studio. “Come on in!” He called out, and Yuuri did, followed closely by Phichit. 

The studio contained roughly a dozen poles, and when Yuuri approached one near the front of the room, he found the feeling of wrapping his hand around it oddly familiar. Looking at the chrome finish, he was able to catch a distorted reflection of himself grinning as he arrived at a realization of sorts.

_I’ve gone from a horizontal pole to a vertical one._

But when Chris turned to face him, Yuuri dropped the smile immediately. The less he had to explain, the better.

After finishing a short warm up, Yuuri watched diligently as Chris began to go over some of the basics. 

“You’re going to want to stand around a foot away from the base of the pole, heels up.” _Relevé,_ Yuuri’s mind supplied as he silently shuffled into place, and although he could see from Chris’ demonstration that he was where he was supposed to be, he couldn’t help but feel that this positioning was awkwardly close. Chris raised his arm up. “You’ll want to start with your hand fairly high on the pole, as it will naturally slide down as you walk,” the man paused, watching in the mirror to make sure the two students were correctly positioned. “Good,” he smiled. “Now, lean away from the pole like so,” Yuuri followed along, shifting his weight toward his outside hip and effectively hanging off his arm. “Now, just walk, one foot in front of the other.”

Slowly, Yuuri began walking around the pole, his hand gradually sliding down as he did so. After a moment, Chris spoke up once again. “Now, to switch directions, simply step one foot in front of the other and pivot.” Yuuri observed, and as he mimicked the movement himself, he felt a small wave of comfort washing over him. _This is a lot like a soutenu turn at the barre,_ he silently noted.

_Maybe it’s not so different, after all…_

...Thirty minutes later, Yuuri had been made well aware of just how wrong he was.

Sure, there were _some_ similarities, as there are in most forms of dance, but the minute aspects that were comparable to ballet were largely overshadowed by a vast mountain of differences. Yuuri’s coordination was solid, his flexibility practically inimitable. He’d participated in so many Nutcrackers over the years, he could do every variation in his sleep. 

But this… Well, in all honesty, Yuuri had no idea how he was doing. It felt as if his body was moving in ways that were beyond his control, and it was not a feeling he was accustomed to, to say the least. 

In ballet, every move is calculated with meticulous precision. 

_Hips squared. Fingers extended, no, that’s **too** extended. Lift your chin. Try to imagine a wooden cross connecting to your back, with endpoints on both your shoulders, Yuuri. Keep that image in mind and **relax.** Your feet are sickling._

For the first time in twenty-three years, Yuuri felt he was succumbing to gravity. Vaguely, he wondered if this was what it felt like to move naturally.

Yuuri wrapped his ankles around the pole, spinning around until his toes touched the floor. It was a basic spin, one Chris had called _‘The Fireman,’_ and although he couldn’t identify anything about his technique that seemed fundamentally incorrect, he still couldn’t help but look over at Chris each time, his face rife with uncertainty. When Chris made eye contact with him, he laughed. 

“Ah, this is my favorite thing about teaching beginners,” He commented, leaning casually against an unoccupied pole. “Ninety percent of the time, they’re doing just fine, but you can always tell by the look on their face that they _definitely do not think they’re doing fine.”_

Yuuri’s eyes darted between Chris and Phichit, his expression unchanged. _So does that mean…?_

“Yes Yuuri, you are, in fact, doing that correctly,” he smiled softly, taking a few steps forward until he could speak practically directly into his ear. “Believe me, you look great. I knew you’d be a natural at this.”

“Uhh,” he froze up for a moment, his tone manifesting the uncertainty only his expression had previously conveyed, though for an entirely different reason. “Do I,” he replied, and it wasn’t a question, so Chris didn’t answer. 

Over the course of the next hour, they’d managed to cover a fairly large amount of basic moves. Chris, to Yuuri’s mild surprise, was actually fairly professional as an instructor, although there were several instances of what, over the years, both Phichit and Yuuri had come to refer to as _Chrisisms._

_‘I like to think of the pole like a dance partner. One that can never disappoint me by forgetting to put the clothes in the dryer, or coming too soon.’_

_‘Now, roll your body against the pole, like you’re trying to remind it that it isn’t the only pole between the two of you.’_

_‘One of the nicer things about riding a pole is that any soreness you have the next day will be spread out all over, and not just concentrated in your ass.’_

It was a productive class nonetheless. 

Every once in awhile Yuuri would glance over at Phichit, and every once in awhile he would glance back, giving him a reassuring smile that quelled Yuuri’s nerves until there were no longer any nerves to quell. Somewhere around the halfway point, Yuuri was finally getting into the swing of things. 

“Okay, boys,” Chris clapped his hands together, grabbing their attention. “We’re almost out of time, now. I like to end my classes with a bit of free dance time, so if it’s alright with you two, I’m just going to dim the lights, put on a song, and you can just do whatever you feels right to you. Alright?”

“Sure,” Phichit smiled. Yuuri merely nodded mutely, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. When he opened them again, the lights were already low, and a pulsing beat began pouring from the speakers just a few seconds afterward. With one more deep breath, Yuuri readjusted his grip and walked. 

He started out simply walking, switching directions periodically. He raised his eyes to the mirror ahead, and as Yuuri met the gaze of his own reflection, a sudden surge of confidence spurred him on. Yuuri swayed his hips with each step he took, his free hand coming up only to push his bangs out of his face, but ultimately remaining there, as his fingers laced through his dark hair, and Yuuri was _spinning._

When he reached the floor, he landed on his toes, gradually straightening his legs as he remained bent over them. Yuuri came up, arching his back as he moved slowly, taking his time to reach a full standing position. He strutted around the pole a few more times, felt the air shifting around him as he performed some turns, a pirouette, and then he was grabbing the pole with both hands, his legs bending off the floor and leaving him hanging there for just a split second, before he was slowly sliding down, down, down... His knees touched the floor again, and he lingered for a moment as he repositioned himself on his toes, each leg moving one at a time. 

He could practically feel the heavy bass of the song vibrating inside his chest, teetering on the edge of overwhelming. Yuuri didn’t particularly care about it to begin with, but with each passing second, he somehow managed to care even less. Toward the end of the song, he was actually beginning to enjoy it.

Yuuri’s body moves without his consent, flowing through space as if he were underwater, and his perception of his surroundings matched the illusion. He felt, rather than heard, the music, and the world outside his own little bubble was distant and muted. With each step, Yuuri points his feet, dragging his toes sensuously along the floor. The hand he had digging into his hair slowly ran down his neck, over his shoulder and down his side. His bangs fell into his eyes, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. His hand reached his hip, and stayed there. 

When the song fades out, Yuuri fades back in. There’s a moment of brief disorientation as the overhead lights return to full strength. Yuuri blinks a few times as he readjusts, and his eyes drift over to the mirror in front of him. In his reflection, he sees himself, cheeks flushed red, and covered in sweat. Although he had been well aware of the latter for the majority of the class, actually seeing it gave it a sort of newfound authenticity that he couldn’t help but be surprised by. Somehow, he hadn’t expected this to be as exhausting as it was. 

“Alright!” Chris clapped, bring Yuuri out of his thoughts. “So, how about we all just go out into the waiting room and have a nice little heart-to-heart, hmm?”

Under normal circumstances, that sort of request coming from a person like Chris would’ve given Yuuri pause. But he felt calm. It was not unlike that serene feeling that always occurred in the period immediately following intense exercise, but somehow it seemed different this time. Different, in that it gave Yuuri a tone to his posture, his step, of total assuredness, as he followed Phichit and Chris out into the waiting area. 

“So?” Was all Chris said as he took his place on the couch, patting the spaces on either side of him. The couch was not very large, but Phichit and Yuuri still managed to squeeze in next to him. 

“I had fun,” Phichit said, leaning forward slightly to direct a smirk toward Yuuri. “I think Yuuri had much more, though.”

“What?” Yuuri blanched, snapping out of his daze.

“Oh, I could tell,” Chris knowingly sang. “Toward the end there you had me this close to doing something very unprofessional, Yuuri.” He wrapped his arm around Yuuri’s torso, leaning in as Yuuri instinctively leaned back.

“I-I mean,” Yuuri stuttered, though he couldn’t help but roll his eyes when he heard Phichit wolf whistle. “I just liked it, okay? Sorry for embarrassing myself, I guess.” 

“Oh, you didn’t embarrass yourself, Yuuri. You embarrassed _me.”_ Chris explained casually, his chin now resting on Yuuri’s shoulder. Yuuri might’ve moved away if he wasn’t trapped between Chris and the couch, but he was, and was therefore forced to come to terms with it. “Oh, but I don’t mean in like, a second-hand embarrassment kind of way,” Chris amended after a brief pause. “I mean in like, an ‘oh shit, I need a cold shower right now, immediately’ sort of way.” 

Yuuri’s eyes went wide, and he made a noise that was not unlike a strangled hum, if such a thing existed. _It does now._

“But on a more serious note, I have to ask, Yuuri,” he lifted his head off his shoulder, though his arm still remained firmly wrapped around Yuuri’s side. “What made you want to try pole? I mean, partly I’m just curious, but it’s also pretty important if you plan to actually pursue this. As an instructor, it helps to understand what my students’ goals are, as I’m sure you would guess.” 

Yuuri paused. On the other side of the couch, he heard Phichit snort, causing Chris to glance over at him. When his eyes returned to Yuuri, the curiosity in them had only intensified. 

“Well…” Yuuri trailed off, averting his eyes somewhere off to the side. “I uh, I met a guy who does it.”

“A sexy Russian,” Phichit chimed in.

“Phichit-” Yuuri began sharply, then released an exaggerated sigh, redirecting his attention to Chris. “Well, he’s not _wrong._ I don’t know, it was Phichit’s idea, really.”

“I’m guessing you’re pretty into this guy, huh?” Chris said, with a tone that seemed more appropriate for a gossiping pre-teen’s slumber party.

“Yeah, but like,” Yuuri paused, then lifted his hands, making some vague gesture that didn’t really convey anything of value. “I don’t know what to do about it. He’s like, sensuality incarnate and I’m just… me. Every time I’m around him, I get so flustered it’s like I can’t even speak to him. Phichit suggested I try… this, because he thought it would maybe help me to not feel so nervous around him, and… Well, yeah.” 

“Ah, now I understand,” Chris nodded, comprehension shining in his eyes. “Pole _has_ been known to increase people’s self confidence in that respect,” he confirmed. “Is there anything else I should know?”

“I mean…” Yuuri began, hesitating briefly before continuing. “Well, I guess I should probably say that even if that’s kind of the goal, I’d rather not start with anything _too_ sexual, at least not yet.”

“I understand,” Chris nodded. “That can be something we work up to. Or not, if that’s what you choose. Pole doesn’t _have_ to be sexual, after all.” He paused for a moment. “Do you have any particular goals, Yuuri?”

”I... haven’t really thought about it,” Yuuri admitted. “I mean, if I can even be half as good as Victor is, that would be a miracle, as far as I’m concerned,” he laughed lightly.

“Wow, he must be quite the dancer!” 

“Yeah, you could say that,” Yuuri almost laughed. “I’m pretty sure he’s won like, championships, or something.” 

“Really?” Chris’ eyebrows practically shot up to his hairline. “Wait, what’s his name?”

“Uh, Victor Nikiforov,” Yuuri replied, vaguely wondering if his pronunciation was even close to correct. Judging by Chris’ reaction, it was at least close enough to be recognizable. 

_“Victor Nikiforov?”_ He blurted, eyes going wide. “No way. You’re shitting me. Yuuri, you’re shitting me right? _Right?”_

“Uhm, no,” Yuuri replied slowly, leaning back against the couch as Chris got progressively more in his face. “I am not… er, shitting you, Chris.”

“That’s fucking incredible,” he effused. “Oh my god, Victor Nikiforov, that man - ‘sexy Russian’ is an understatement. Oh my _god.”_

Yuuri wasn’t quite sure what to say, and so he didn’t say anything. 

“You better not be lying, because I am so telling all the other teachers about this.”

“It’s the truth,” Yuuri laughed awkwardly.

“Beautiful,” Chris took a deep breath, visibly calming himself, and continued. “Alright, well, since you don’t have any particular goals, here’s a little homework assignment for you. Sometime in the next couple of days, before our next class, that is, I want you to find a routine you’d like to try to learn.” At Yuuri’s uncertain expression, Chris elaborated. “Of course, nothing _too_ advanced. You can get away with a lot more because of your dance experience, Yuuri, and from what I saw today, you’re a fast learner, but still, keep it within reason. If you find something you really love and it’s too difficult, we can always alter it, though.” 

“Okay,” Yuuri nodded slowly. “I think I can do that.”

“Wonderful,” Chris smiled, and with that, they said their goodbyes, and stepped out of the studio and into the cold night. 

On the drive back, Yuuri felt that same floating, euphoric sort of sensation permeating his being. A combination of endorphins and something else, something unfamiliar. It was brimming within his mind, a particular brand of self-possession that didn’t quite match up with anything he’d felt before.

Confidence in his ability as a dancer was a feeling Yuuri knew quite well, and it should come as no surprise that one of the times he would feel it most intensely would be after a successful practice session. When he went up en pointe, Yuuri was invincible because he was untouchable. _High up in the sky, where nothing can hurt me._

But this wasn’t that kind of confidence. This wasn’t about his skills, his abilities, the successes he’d achieved through hard work and sweat. This was confidence in himself, not as a dancer, but as a person. For the first time in his life, Yuuri felt he was approaching something akin to what it meant to be sure of oneself, in what was, arguably, the most human of ways - sexually. He no longer resided miles above ground, where he was safe not because he was not vulnerable, but simply because he was out of range. Yuuri’s feet were planted firmly on the floor, grounded in the center of reality, daring anyone to reach out and touch him, and experience for themselves the harsh reality of just how tangible he was.

_Go on, try it. Just don’t come crying to me when you get burned._

 

~*~

 

Yuuri was halfway through a shower when a sudden insistent knocking on the bathroom door, accompanied with frantic yelling, broke him away from his idle thoughts and plunged him into an instinctive state of panic. He jumped out of the shower and ran for the door, wrenching it wide open forcefully and fixing the source of the knocking, who turned out to be Phichit, with an imploring stare. 

“What’s wrong?!” He shouted. “Is the house on fire? Is someone hurt?!” 

“What?” Phichit gave him an odd look, then shook his head. “No, no, nothing like that, Yuuri! Victor called again. He’s asking for you, as usual.”

“Oh,” Yuuri sighed, feeling immediately relieved. It was only then that he registered his state of dress. Or rather, undress. “Fu- _ahh!”_ He sputtered, eyes practically bugging out of his head, “Okay, I’m naked!” He quickly slammed the door shut and backed up against it, ears just close enough to hear Phichit burst out laughing outside, loud enough to be heard even with shower still running at full blast. Yuuri covered his face with his palms and called out, “I’ll be out in five minutes!” And slunk back over to the shower, staring red-faced at the shower floor, as the suds on his body washed down the drain.

 

~*~

 

By the time Yuuri arrived at Victor’s home, he was over the whole incident. It wasn’t the first time Phichit had seen him naked, and it probably wouldn’t be the last, but he still couldn’t help but avoid eye contact with his friend during their interactions afterward, much to Phichit’s amusement. 

When he rung the doorbell, Victor answered with a cheery smile and close to no clothes on. It was something Yuuri had more or less come to expect, at this point, but that by no means meant he was used to it. 

“Yuuri!” Victor exclaimed, and he looked almost as excited to see him as Makkachin did, from where he stood at his side. 

“Hi, Victor,” Yuuri smiled, adjusting his grip on the boxes of food. It was mostly a precaution in case the dog decided to tackle him again, but had the added benefit of drawing Victor’s attention to them.

“Ah, here-” He reached out, taking the boxes from Yuuri’s arms before turning around and walking in the direction of the kitchen. “Come on in!” Victor called out, but Yuuri was already following him. He knew the drill.

As they entered the kitchen, Yuuri was greeted with the sight of Yuri as well as another young man, with dark hair and eyes, and a very serious expression etched onto his face. 

“This is Yuri two’s boyfriend, Otabek,” Victor introduced, inclining his head in the direction of the kitchen table, where the two teenagers currently sat. Once he set the food down on the counter, he turned around with an innocent sort of grin. Yuuri honestly couldn’t tell if it was genuine or not. 

“He’s not my fucking boyfriend!” Yuri shouted, standing up in an abrupt manner that caused the chair he had occupied to screech across the floor. 

“Oh?” Victor tilted his head, that same innocent smile plastered on his face. _Okay, definitely not genuine._

“Don’t ‘oh’ me,” he muttered bitterly, shoving past Victor to get to the food. “Just because you’re like, the _posterboy_ for gayness doesn’t mean everyone else is, too.”

“Is that so?” Victor replied, speaking in a deceptively sweet tone. “I suppose you’d better watch out, though. It might be contagious.” 

“Is nah fock in cuh-haygeous you fock in-”

“Yuri two, what have we said about talking with your mouth full?” Victor chided. Yuri stared straight at him, eyes narrowing, though he swallowed his food nonetheless.

“Whatever,” he spat. “I’ve told you a thousand times he’s not my boyfriend. Don’t fucking pretend you don’t remember.”

As all this went on, Yuuri stood awkwardly near the entrance of the kitchen, shifting his center of gravity back and forth between his feet nervously. In contrast, Otabek seemed completely unaffected, quietly placing food onto his plate and waiting patiently by Yuri’s side. 

“Oh? Then what is he?” Victor asked, crossing his arms and shifting his weight onto one hip. It was the stance of a challenge. 

“He’s-” Yuri started, but didn’t finish, freezing up and pursing his lips. “He’s…” Yuri tried again, trailing off as he looked up in thought. Then, abruptly, he turned to face the man in question. “What are you?”

Otabek slowly chewed his food, swallowing and setting his fork down on the plate. Then, in a low, matter-of-fact tone, he replied, “The person who’s about to beat you at Mario Kart.” Yuri paused for a moment, before a wide grin broke loose across his face.

“Oh, you are _so_ on,” He laughed, already walking quickly toward the hallway, Otabek following behind him.

“Ah, how romantic,” Victor commented.

“Fuck you!” The teen shouted, leaning around the corner at the last second, before he was no longer visible. At the hallway entrance, Otabek paused, turning around to face Victor.

“Thank you for the food,” he said politely, and with that, the two disappeared into what Yuuri only assumed to be Yuri’s room.

“Ah, young love,” Victor sighed, before turning back to Yuuri. “Come get some food, Yuuri!”

“Oh, I shouldn’t-”

 _“Yuuri.”_ Victor said, in that warning tone that left no room for argument.

“...Alright,” he conceded. _It’s not like I didn’t bring extra for myself anyway._

When both their plates were full, the two sat down on the couch in the living room. It would’ve been a normal looking scene, almost domestic, if it weren’t for the tall, chrome pole that still remained, not-so-innocently, in the dead center of the room.

“Yuuri, your hair is wet,” Victor pointed out, quite literally, as his hand extended to softly touch Yuuri’s hair.

“O-Oh,” he stuttered. “Yeah, I uh... just took a shower, so...”

“Without me?” Yuuri did a double take, and with wide eyes he met the gaze of Victor, whose expression looked almost pouty. 

“Ex… Excuse me?” With no small amount of effort, Yuuri managed to force the words out.

“You showered, Yuuri. Without _me._ I’m hurt, Yuuri, I thought what we had was special.” He placed his hand over his heart dramatically. Yuuri blinked repeatedly, his mind going as blank as his face was red. He honestly had no idea how he was supposed to respond. Luckily, the silence didn’t drag on for too long. “I’m just teasing you, Yuuri,” Victor laughed, and continued to eat as if nothing had happened. 

Yuuri sighed quietly, relieved. He tried to concentrate on eating, but before he could even get the first bite into his mouth, Victor piped up again. 

“Oh!” He exclaimed, raising his index finger. “I almost forgot, I wanted to show you this,” _oh dear god,_ “I added something to the routine. Tell me what you think, will you?” _Oh my god, not again. Is this going to happen every single time I- “Yuuri…”_

Yuuri was ripped from his thoughts by the sound of that deep baritone calling his name. It was that special tone of his that demanded his attention, like weaponized shivers down his spine. 

A moment later, the beat rolled in through the speakers, and Victor started from the top. 

_Of course he’s not just going to show me the part he added. Of course he has to show me the whole goddamn thing._

_Of course._

Yuuri watched as Victor climbed the pole, twirling around it as he moved. He watched as the man went further and further, until he was at the very top, turning upside down in preparation for the first drop.

But something was different this time. Not in the routine, but in Yuuri, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it until the beat hit, and Victor allowed gravity to take over as he slid down the pole, stopping just inches before he could crash into the floor and break his nose.

_Nose breaker._

_That’s what Chris called that move, wasn’t it?_

He’d seen Chris demonstrate it earlier that day. From what he understood, it was considered to be a fairly advanced move, although that apparently applied to all drops in general. 

_Ah, that’s what is,_ Yuuri realized. As he watched Victor’s routine, the majority of it was still foreign to him, but every once in awhile he’d see something, some little thing he could pick out and recognize, and he couldn’t help but feel excited, almost giddy, each time it happened. 

As Yuuri observed Victor’s intricate movements, he no longer saw them purely through the eyes of a spectator. Now, he was seeing them as a dancer, as well. 

Of course, that wasn’t all that was on Yuuri’s mind as he watched Victor move. After all, it was _Victor,_ and although he could take a step back every once in awhile and appreciate the flawless execution from a technical standpoint, he’d be lying if he said that was the main thought going through his mind. 

His blood began to rise under his skin, and Yuuri faded in and out of that special mindset he had reserved for times like this, which could only be described as a casual sense of impending doom. His only solace was in the fact that he knew what to expect for the majority of the routine.

Yuuri was teetering on the edge of reality, eyes glazed over as he watched Victor move. He glanced down at his food, rapidly cooling in the open air. A second later he looked up, and something hit him, like a wave overtaking his mind.

He wasn’t entirely sure of the origins of this realization. Perhaps it was something in the way Victor moved, his hips twisting as he transitioned into the part of the routine he must’ve only recently added. Whatever the cause, Yuuri couldn’t ignore the thought once it surfaced. Now that it was in his mind, it was there to stay.

_He’s doing this to entertain me, isn’t he?_

Yuuri blinked, only just then realizing how dry his eyes had become.

 _Victor’s doing this for me,_ the idea solidified in his head. _And if he’s doing this for me, shouldn’t I just… sit back and enjoy it?_

With that thought in mind, Yuuri leaned back against the couch cushion, allowing himself to get comfortable. His knees, which he’d had clamped together as a force of habit, parted slightly. Keeping his eyes glued to the man in front of him, he resumed his eating, slowly bringing each bite to his mouth. He didn’t want to miss a thing.

The combined pleasure of eating and watching Victor hummed through his body like an electric current, and for once, Yuuri didn’t try to repress it. He observed the man with lidded eyes, and when Victor arrived in a particularly difficult looking pose and held it, their gazes connected. Yuuri saw the other man falter slightly as he took in his shift in demeanor, and smirked. _Is it really that obvious?_

With their eyes still locked, Yuuri slowly brought his chopsticks to his mouth. Distantly, he realized that perhaps this sort of thing would have more of an effect had he been eating a more traditionally sensual food, like strawberries, or maybe even a popsicle, but as his lips closed around the food, and Yuuri witnessed the faintest of blushes making itself at home across Victor’s cheeks, he knew his point had been made. 

Victor’s feet land lightly on the floor as his routine comes to an end. The music fades into nothingness, and as the man approaches him, Yuuri continues to eat almost pointedly, head lifting to maintain eye contact as he gets closer. Victor only stops walking when he physically can’t anymore, leaning over Yuuri with one knee pressed against the part of the cushion that was between his legs in a way that was suspiciously casual. 

His proximity had a dual effect on Yuuri. On the one hand, it brings him back to reality. Victor’s close to him, and he can feel his heat, and he can reach out and touch him, and it makes the situation real for him in a way he that simply didn’t exist two minutes ago. Conversely, it has an intoxicating effect on him that makes him feel as if he were floating. Victor’s close to him, and he can feel his heat, and he can reach out and touch him, and it creates a circumstance not unlike what Yuuri would imagine an overdose would feel like. Undoubtedly dangerous, objectively deadly, and yet as soon as it hits his bloodstream, all of that ceases to matter to him.

“So, what’d you think, _Yuuri?”_ He asks, voice low, staring down at Yuuri as he takes another bite of his food. He takes his sweet time chewing it, and Victor’s eyes follow the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallows it down. 

“I liked it,” Yuuri replied simply, intentionally vague.

“Oh? You thought it was good, _Yuuri?”_ And no matter how many times Victor says his name in that deep voice of his, the shivers dance down his spine just the same. 

“No,” Yuuri smiles, and for a moment Victor looks confused. “But ‘good’ wasn’t what you were going for, was it? You said it yourself, Victor. I don’t need to be told twice.” 

“Is that so?” Victor’s palm comes down to anchor itself on the couch, dangerously close to Yuuri’s face. He doesn’t flinch. “What word would you use to describe it, then, _Yuuri?”_

Yuuri opens his mouth to speak, but the words don’t come out. Thinking back to the last time he was here, the words Victor offered were still all too present in his memory. 

_Dirty, naughty, filthy. Whatever pleases you, Yuuri._

Yuuri knows what he’s supposed to say. Victor doesn’t repeat himself, but he sees it in his eyes. A reflection of the past. Yuuri silently wishes he could simply reply, ‘all of the above,’ but without explicit context, it wouldn’t make a lot of sense. The ghost of those words still hangs in the air, and yet he cannot bring himself to call their name. His mouth is left open as the reality of the situation finally crashed down around him, and suddenly his face is burning, his body tenses, and if Victor wasn’t conveniently positioned between his spread legs, he would’ve certainly clamped them shut.

“What’s wrong, Yuuri?” He asks in a pseudo-innocent voice, his unoccupied hand raising to Yuuri’s face, thumb tracing over his bottom lip. Yuuri glances down at it for only a second before his eyes return to Victor’s. “Don’t know what to say?” He smiled, and Yuuri remained silent. After a pause, his grin spread further across his face. “Or perhaps... you just know _too well?”_

Still, Yuuri says nothing. He can feel it welling up inside him - any moment now, he’ll start shaking. Victor’s voice drops impossibly deeper.

“You’re so-”

“-Fucking _gross,”_ Yuri cuts in, and Yuuri turns his head in shock, immediately spotting the blonde teenager, standing at the hallway entrance with a look of disgust on his face. Victor’s hand falls from Yuuri’s face, and the action itself almost looks reluctant. Yuri speaks up again, and now he’s moving toward them. “Hey Victor, hate to break it to you, but porn logic isn’t actually a thing. You don't get free food for fucking the delivery boy,” Yuuri’s eyes practically bugged out of his skull and his cheeks burned impossibly hotter, as Yuri strode past the two of them to put his plate in the kitchen sink. When he emerged from the kitchen, Yuuri caught a roll of his eyes as he walked past them again. 

“Oh, and by the way…” He paused for effect. “When they said you should give him a tip? They meant your fucking _money.”_

Yuri leaves the room, and Yuuri’s soul leaves his body.

 

~*~

 

The night before his second pole dance class, Yuuri was frantic.

He knew he should’ve started his search sooner, but frankly, he didn’t expect it to be so difficult. He never had any trouble finding inspiration for ballet, this shouldn’t be any different, right?

_Wrong._

The trouble Yuuri ran into came down to a matter of balance. It seemed no matter how long he looked, he simply couldn’t find a pole routine that wasn’t too advanced for his abilities, too sexual for his comfort, or some combination of both. As his search went on, it almost seemed as if the two were inversely correlated. The easier the routine, the more overtly sexual it was. The more difficult the routine, the less overtly sexual it was. Originally, Yuuri had thought he’d like to attempt Victor’s routine, specifically the emotional one which he had watched a few nights ago, but with this, he ran into the latter issue. As innocent as it was, it was also far beyond his skillset. 

Yuuri was fighting a losing battle against the allure of sleep. His eyelids felt heavy, and his mind was beginning to get foggy. He’d considered a couple of Victor’s other routines, but had long since given up on it. The vast majority of them were quite sexually charged in a way Yuuri could never hope to emulate. With each video he viewed, Yuuri grew closer to giving up altogether. 

And then, out of the fog that was his mind, emerged a new idea, miraculous enough to shake away the advances of sleep, if only for a few minutes. 

From what Yuuri had read, he knew that Victor had started pole dancing as a hobby when he was around sixteen years old. Yuuri had watched nearly all the videos of him in major competitions as an adult, but… he hadn’t thought to search his name out in any of the junior categories.

It took some digging, and what would probably qualify as excessive use of Google translate, but eventually he was able to find something - a video from a smaller competition in Russia, depicting a seventeen-year-old Victor Nikiforov. He tapped the link on his screen, and once the video loaded up, he heard the sound of a familiar, poppy song playing through the crude speakers of his phone. He tapped the screen to expand the video description, recognizing the title he couldn’t recall on his own.

_Head Over Heels_ by Tears For Fears

 _I haven’t heard this song in years._ Unconsciously, his bobbed his head to the catchy beat of the song’s intro. 

As the dance started to pick up, Yuuri felt a swell of hope in his chest. As he’d suspected, because Victor was relatively young when he performed this routine, the sexual element was minimal. Rather, the general vibe of the dance seemed to match that of the song, a sort of playful, flirtatious attitude that perfectly characterized the mindset of someone who was young, idealistic, and, well, _head over heels,_ in love.

As far as the actual choreography went, it was certainly ambitious, but it was a challenge Yuuri was willing to take on. There were elements in the dance that he could relate to ballet, and the parts he could not would, at the very least, be aided by his flexibility and strength. 

As the video came to an end, Yuuri locked his phone and allowed his hand to fall limp across his chest. There was no longer any doubt in his mind. It was only then that he realized he’d been smiling for almost the entire duration of the video, his cheeks already beginning to feel slightly sore, and he had to will his racing heartbeat to slow down inside his chest.

That night, Yuuri had dreams with cinematography like music videos, set to a soundtrack of flirtatious laughter, sprinkled with Russian-accented exclamations. _Wow! Amazing!_

In the morning, he’d have to get Chris’ approval before he could really say this routine was the one, but he knew he’d have no trouble with that. He was certain of it, because in his dreams, when Victor spoke, every word off his tongue was a song of its own, comprising a joyous symphony that echoed off the walls of Yuuri’s mind. They settled into his head and absorbed into his skin, and every piece fit perfectly together in the whimsical key of G major.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheesy ending is cheesy.  
> Spoiler: Otabek is so totally Yuri’s boyfriend lmao  
> Anyway, if any of you are hella savvy to 80’s new wave music (for whatever reason lmao) you may’ve noticed that the title is actually a lyric from the song Head Over Heels. “You keep your distance with a system of touch, and gentle persuasion. I’m lost in admiration, could I need you this much?” If you aren’t familiar with TFF, you may’ve heard this song if you’ve seen the movie Donnie Darko. It’s the song they use in that one iconic scene that’s just one continuous shot. Anyway, I picked this song because it seemed like exactly the sort of song you would not expect someone to pole dance to lol. Victor’s all about surprising the audience, after all. Plus, it's just a cute song and the thought of Yuuri innocently pole dancing to it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy lol. In any case though, if you want to listen to it you can do so [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nn3eTJFZYiE), though it’s not necessary at all to enjoy the story ~~it merely enhances your experience with classic new wave goodness.~~
> 
> So yeah, thank you guys all so much for reading this story! Your comments give me life, I fucking love them, even though I’m awkward and don’t always know how to respond. Feel free to send me a message on Tumblr @weirdfairytales if you’d like to make sure I do respond though. That’s one surefire way to make my day lol. Other than tumblr, I’m also on twitter and instagram with the usernames weirdfairytales and weirdo.galore, respectively. Again, thank you so much for reading! I love all of you and if I could I’d take all of you to a casino in vegas and m a r r y t h e s h i t o u t o f y o u

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't think I'd be so nervous about posting this time but here I am, hands shaking haha. Comment if you enjoyed it; it'll motivate me to continue.
> 
> Between this and Cherry Boy I’m probably gonna fuckin die, but I don’t even care man, I ACCEPT MY FATE.  
> Coming here out of the OnS fandom is honestly kind of scary, especially considering how big and active this fandom is. On the off chance any of you have read any of my other weird shit, you’ll know what you’re in for here, although it probably won’t be quite as hyperbolic, because the setting is relatively normal this time. Ish. Normal-ish. Nothing is ever _really_ normal. _Nothing is sacred._  
>  But yes! Thank you for taking the time to read this. It really does mean a lot to me <3


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